The Lost Horcrux
by Th3Alchemist
Summary: AU Canon Divergent. 5 yrs after Harry fakes his own death during the Battle of Hogwarts he returns to a dystopian nightmare world in the throes of Voldemort's dark grip, to rescue Hermione from her impending death and finally bring freedom and fulfill the Prophecy. Advisories: reference to spousal abuse, dark themes, sexual activity, The fucking Weasleys and other bad language.
1. The Deathday Party

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery. I'm exploring dark places, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

They held the party every year.

For the first one they actually broke into Hogwarts itself, found the very spot where it had happened and tried to perform the ritual there. But the Dark Wards imposed by the new regime alerted the authorities to intruders, and they were forced to take refuge in the Forbidden Forest for several days. By the time it was safe to come out again, the narrow window of opportunity had passed.

Since then they had learned to be more discreet. Public places were out of the question. The surveillance state that had developed since Lord Voldemort's accession was all-encompassing. There wasn't a Wizarding street anywhere that escaped round-the-clock monitoring. And with the Muggle world being stealthily subjugated, too, it was proving difficult to find anywhere safe.

But each year they had to. Just for hope's sake.

This year, on the fifth anniversary, Hermione's old flat had been chosen as the location. Only a couple of people knew about it, and she trusted them explicitly. If they turned on her, they might as well all give up now. So Hermione had spent the last few weeks preparing. It hadn't been easy. Ron was watching her more closely now, asking more questions. He knew what she was up to, not that he'd attended the party in the past three years. Not since his promotion.

Commandant of the Hengest Camp for Squib Rehabilitation. He was proud of his role. He'd risen quickly through the ranks, since accepting a job with the Muggleborn Registration Commission. Hermione was disgusted at it. He said he only did it to keep her safe, to keep her out of the hands of the Commission. But it didn't explain why he'd taken to the role with such zealous enthusiasm. He was just an inside man, he insisted, looking out for her from under the noses of their enemies. It was the only way to keep her alive.

But he said the same thing when she was forced to marry him.

Marriage into a Pureblood family. A free pass to escape the camps. Only she wasn't free. She felt as much of a prisoner as those poor souls behind the high barbed-wired fences. The ones she now had to endure the horror of seeing every day, since she and Ron had moved into the huge manor house for the Commandant right on the outskirts of the camp. It was a living nightmare.

At least when they'd lived in Glastonbury she could come and go relatively as she pleased. The security measures on every house, every building, every street she entered may have been smothering and cumbersome, but at least she could pass those checkpoints without submitting to a body pat down, surrendering her wand for inspection and enduring the violation of a Legilimency scan.

For that was her life now. At least in the new house she and Ron had separate bedrooms. Their monthly commune - as required by their marriage contract - was now a brief, regimented affair. They would talk about politics and foreign policy for the four or five minutes that Ron was thrusting into her. Then he would grunt, roll off and cast a Contraceptive Charm on her. It wouldn't do to get her pregnant. The shame might cost him his job. After all, he had a harem of Pureblood witches waiting to bear his children. As soon as they came of age themselves.

Hermione had conditioned herself not to cry after these meetings. The pain had stopped long ago and Ron was so poorly endowed that she barely felt him inside her these days. And he was so clumsy with his spell work that Hermione was half-convinced he had made her barren anyway. She would retreat to the shower after every Bedding Rite and wash the soil of it from every part she could reach. The shower hid her tears in the early days, now it just helped cleanse her self-hatred.

Her only hope of release came on this anniversary. This day every year. She built herself up, mindless of the futility of it. It had never worked. But each year she would find a safe place, follow the local ley lines until they converged, create a tributary from there and set up the ritual space. A pentagram, a convolution of the correct sequence of runes, an array of security enchantments and a slew of spells to summon the one person she hoped her efforts could reach.

Not that he had ever come. And why would he? Why leave the sanctuary of death to return to this hellish new reality? Not even Harry Potter was that chivalrous.

But it still gave Hermione hope. She clung to that notion, as far-fetched as it was. It helped her get through the darkest days. Nothing could bring back the dead. She knew that. But she also knew there were ghosts and other manifestations from the spirit world. She had steadfastly refused to accept that Harry had just left her like that. Without a goodbye, without an explanation. Without being part of the plan.

For hadn't they been following a plan? Laid out by Dumbledore, wrapped in allegory and misty deceit. Horcruxes, Hallows, Prophecies…and an end to the darkness of Voldemort. Harry was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the one destined to vanquish Voldemort. Hermione couldn't wrap her head around him just walking blindly to his death. He wouldn't do that. There must have been a reason. He was her best and closest friend. He wouldn't have just left her all alone.

Not her. Everyone else, maybe. But not her.

So she clung staunchly to this belief that somehow, however twisted, this was all still part of the plan. Harry would find a way to tell them, send an emissary, a champion to continue the struggle in his stead, for he was unable. And Hermione would need to do her part. The last of the Order of the Phoenix would need to emerge from hiding and take up arms again. At least the ones Ron hadn't yet been able to turn over to the Death Eaters. Or worse, one of Draco Malfoy's Section Seven Agents. Those dark wizards terrified Hermione almost as much as Voldemort himself.

Hermione pushed aside her fears as she continued her incantations. The others would be arriving soon. She had laid out food and drink for them all. This was a celebration, after all. Celebrating Harry's short life, and the wonderful person he was, one that they all had loved so dearly. Hermione more dearly than any of them. Or all of them combined. This night wasn't just about indulging fanciful whims and impossible hopes. But as Hermione flicked her wand and whispered the words of Summoning she knew where he thoughts would be all night.

The other members of the Order of Potter, as they had dubbed themselves, began arriving at the pre-determined times. They all knew they were under some level of surveillance. It would be too suspicious for their Floo and Portkey activity to register at the same time and to the same location. The monitoring spells at the Ministry of Magical Governance would be all over them like a bout of spattergoit.

Luna and Seamus were due to arrive first. But at 7.05pm only Luna emerged from the teapot Portkey. Her eyes were tear-stained. And she looked dishevelled. Hermione hurried to her and hugged her tight.

"What's happened? Where's Seamus?" she asked quickly.

Luna shook her head. "Section Seven," she said. "Arrested him this afternoon. He hadn't fulfilled his Marriage Bedding this month. He's only a day late. His husband, Alan, had a bad fall during a Quidditch match. He wasn't able to commune. Its all S7 needed. They've been after Seamus for years. Now they've got him."

Luna whimpered and Hermione felt her heart bleed. She tried not to imagine Seamus in one of the Interrogation Suites, in the bowels of the New Magus Intelligence Building. Draco Malfoy had shown her one once during their construction. There was more than a little hint that he was looking forward to getting her in one before long. She shuddered at the thought. There was another _pop_ and Susan Bones appeared before them.

"I heard about Seamus," she said quickly. "I went to see Alan before coming here. Sorry I'm late."

"How is he?" asked Hermione.

"Distraught doesn't even cover it," said Susan, taking off her coat. "How are _you_? You look tired."

"I'm alright," Hermione lied.

"That black eye tells a different story," said Susan, angrily. "He's beating you again, isn't he?"

"No more than Blaise is knocking you about," said Hermione, motioning at the cast on Susan's wrist. "He won't even let you heal by magic?"

"Its one of my _lessons,_" said Susan bitterly, before adding sarkily, "how else am I supposed to learn?"

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh.

"The reinstated laws may allow a wizard to punish his wife in his own home," said Luna thoughtfully, "but there's nothing that says you can't defend yourselves. You are both extremely powerful."

"It isn't as simple as that," said Hermione. "Being married to prominent wizards is a burden of its own."

"Yeah," Susan nodded. "If we fight back, we will be condemned as corrupt hags and slung up before a show trial. You remember what happened to poor Hannah Abbott when she tried that?"

Hermione shivered at the memory. She had been there. Forced to watch at Ron's side. The jumped up charges, the torment and humiliation they put her through, the public reintroduction of the Ducking Stool and The Burning Stake. Just for sport. They even used the trial as the first show on the new Wizarding Televisual Network. The latest propaganda tool. Hermione hated it.

"Who else is coming tonight?" asked Susan, pouring a glass of wine for all of them. She looked up, nonplussed. "What? I need a drink! Its been a stressful day."

"Just pass me one of them," Hermione smirked. "Well, without poor Seamus it will just be half-a-dozen of us. Ernie can't make it. He is under investigation by the Commission for passing warnings to some Muggleborns in Kent. They escaped England in a dinghy. Its too risky for him to come."

"What about Jenny and Sally-Anne?"

"Mrs and Mrs Perks are attending a vigil in Godric's Hollow," said Luna. "There's a lot going to that one. I'm surprised the Death Eaters allow it, to be honest."

"Its because its a shrine for them, too," said Hermione bitterly. "It marks both of Harry's defeats. His parents died in the house, his own death monument is there. The Death Eaters built it themselves, remember. It reminds us all that Voldemort won. The Death Eaters don't mind having that message reaffirmed. They think it keeps us in line."

"Bollocks to that," said Susan, draining and refilling her glass. "So who are the other three coming tonight?"

"The Patil's will be along later," said Hermione. "And Justin said he'll be here."

"Just us girls then," said Susan, lightly. "Or five-and-a-half."

"That's not nice," said Luna. "Justin was so excited about finally getting the operation. He had spent so long on the other treatments."

"Then Muggle Medicine was outlawed," said Hermione crossly.

"Not before they allowed his castration," Susan pointed out. "Poor Justin."

Silence engulfed them. It hung heavy in the air, congealed and thick. They could think of little to say, so just drunk until the others arrived. The Patil twins arrived together. They looked terrible and the reason was soon outed.

"There's a new initiative at The Balneum," Padma explained. "We're part of it."

"The Balneum?" asked Susan. "Isn't that the research division of St Mungo's?"

"The same," said Parvati. "They are looking into magical development in siblings, with particular interest in twins. We were _requested_ to submit ourselves for examination on Tuesday."

"Lets just say the tests have been pretty fucking torturous," said Padma angrily. "I cant remember the last time I slept."

"Neither of us can," Parvati agreed. "Now they want to look at our kids!"

Hermione gasped. "They're taking your _boys_ in?"

Padma nodded. "They don't think its coincidence we got pregnant at around the same time, were both a month early and both had boys. They want to examine our kids to find a connection."

Parvati suddenly burst into tears. Hermione and Susan rushed to her, grabbing her before she fell. Luna took Padma's hand and squeezed it consolingly. This was the scene that greeted Justin Finch-Fletchley as he and his Portkey materialised in the flat. He didn't even have to ask the details of what was wrong. He simply moved and added his embrace to the hugging women in front of the fire.

The outpouring was cathartic. The group separated and Susan made sure all six had full wine glasses. She proposed a toast.

"Well, we've all come from our own personal hells to be here tonight," she said. Her words were already a little slurred. "But we can put them aside for a few hours, find comfort in each other and toast to the absent friend we have come here to remember. To Harry Potter, may he choose this night, the fifth-year anniversary of his death, to return to us, in whatever form he can. To Harry!"

"To Harry!" the others chorused. Hermione toasted louder than any of them, then they drank to Harry's name, before smashing their glasses into the pentagram, as the ritual dictated. The lines of the ancient symbol went from white to red as the rite was completed.

"It always looks weird when it does that," Justin commented.

Luna nodded in agreement. "And its such a shame we have to waste the glass. Its so pretty."

"Here, have another," said Susan, thrusting another full glass towards both Justin and Luna.

"Do you think he'll come tonight?" Padma asked Hermione, her voice low and quiet.

"I always hope so," said Hermione. Her eyes were swimming in sadness. They betrayed the futility of her lingering hope. Padma nodded in mirrored resignation.

"What would you do if he did?" asked Justin.

"Probably faint," said Hermione, honestly, eliciting a laugh from everyone. "It would be so incredible, wouldn't it?"

"But you don't really believe he will, so he probably wont," Luna mused absently. "You have to believe or he wont know."

"What makes you so sure of that?" asked Susan.

"I work in the Department of Mysteries," said Luna. "They don't let us out much. Especially those who've worked in the Death Chamber."

"Is that what you're doing now?" asked Parvati. "Sounds interesting."

"Ooh it is," said Luna excitedly. "I've been studying the Veil. It connects to the world of the dead somehow, but its a one-way portal. Years ago it was used to carry out death sentences, you know. If you stand really close, you can hear them sometimes. The dead people. So they aren't far away. Harry knew that when he was alive, I'm sure he knows it now that he's dead."

Hermione felt sick at Luna's words. She hated hearing it spelled out so succinctly like that. She sipped her wine but had to sit down before she became too unsteady.

"Small turn out this year," Justin commented, sitting opposite Hermione. "There's getting to be less of us each time."

"Section 7 came for Seamus today," Hermione said.

"Fuck off!" said Justin angrily. "No!"

"Afraid so," Susan confirmed. "Alan's in bits, obviously."

"Those cunting bastards," spat Justin. "First Dean last month, now Seamus. It wont end, will it? Not till we're all in one of their fucking incinerators."

"You haven't heard the worst of it," said Hermione. "Ron tells me there are plans in place for a breeding programme. Control of the gene pool. Filter out non-Pureblood lines once and for all."

"You are taking the piss!" cried Susan. "Are you sure he's not lying?"

"Sue - there are four girls at Hogwarts being groomed for Ron himself!" said Hermione. "Two are only thirteen at the moment. Once they are of age and can bear him children that's it for me. I'll be turned over to Malfoy himself and Merlin knows what will happen to me then. I can barely think about it."

"Oh, Minny!" said Susan, rushing up and hugging Hermione. "Don't say that!"

"Its the fate for all of us, I imagine," said Luna conversationally. "I hope they just curse me to death. I don't think I'd like to be set on fire."

"Here, here," said Justin, smirking slightly. "One good curse to the face. That's how I want to go."

The Patil twins laughed. Hermione eased free from Susan's bear hug and looked longingly at the pentagram. It was still glowing. That was odd. It didn't usually last this long. Something stirred in her chest. She couldn't explain it, or say what it was. But something was warming her. It was probably the wine. She'd had nigh on half a bottle already. It was making her a little giddy. It was escapist. She realised then that it wasn't a warming_ inside_ her chest she could feel.

It was _on it._

Hermione quickly threw her hand to the chain around her neck and dragged out the old galleon that hung there. Her original DA coin. Protean Charmed. Linked to Harry's own. His Master Coin. It was glowing, it was warm to the touch. Hermione tried to order her muddled mind. That should only happen if Harry touched his own coin, or it he was close by. But that was impossible.

He was dead.

Hermione mentally slapped herself. She so wished Harry could be here. She needed him. She needed him so badly she was hallucinating. She was convincing herself of anything, just for a spark of hope against the dark world engulfing her. She sighed, choked back a tear and a stunted breath.

Then there was a knock on the door.


	2. Blood Brothers

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery. I'm exploring dark places, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

The door knocked again.

Every head snapped in Hermione's direction. She knew she was as pale and concerned as the rest of them. She tried to stay calm.

"I thought you said no-one else was coming!" hissed Susan Bones.

"And didn't you make the place Unplottable? You usually do," added Justin.

"Of course I did," Hermione snapped back. "And there isn't anyone else coming. Or at least -"

The door knocked a third time. This one more hurried than the last.

"I'm going to open it."

"No, Minny...it could be dangerous," moaned Susan.

"I'll open it, if you like," Luna offered breezily.

"No, its my flat, I'll go," said Hermione rising from the table. "Better clear this away, though."

She swept her wand, somewhat sadly, over the still glowing pentagram. She felt like she was sweeping Harry away with it. Had he been that close? Had he almost...

Another knock. An impassioned series of thumps this time.

Hermione made her way to the door and peered through the glass. She hadn't realised how tense her shoulders were till she eased them slightly and opened the door.

"It's okay," she said to the others. "It's just Jimmy."

A squat, barrel-chested young man entered the room. Hermione didn't know Jimmy Peakes all that well. He'd once played Beater for Harry's Gryffindor Quidditch team. But these days he was employed as Ernie Macmillan's PA. In truth, he was more of a bodyguard. He was strained and sodden from the heavy rainfall outside.

"Yes, it's me," he said gruffly, shaking his wet mane like a shaggy dog as he crossed the threshold. "But it isn't okay. Ernie's dead."

Hermione threw her hands to her mouth to catch her gasp. Behind her, she heard the shatter of glass where Justin had closed his fist around his wine, which was now spilling out across the table. Parvati and Padma hugged as tears fell from them both. Susan was too shocked to even move.

"You're certain?" asked Luna, who was as pale as her hair.

Jimmy nodded. He was furiously angry, and the hurt was etched into his face at the death of his friend. "Malfoy did him personally. And when I say _personal..._I mean it had a 'hands-on' sort of feel."

"Cunting Malfoy," Justin hissed.

"Yes, yes, we all hate the blonde twat," said Jimmy impatiently. "But Ernie had gone to Alan to warn about Seamus. I suppose you've heard. He's dead, too. He didn't survive the interrogation."

More tears fell. Even Luna broke down. This, somehow more than the others, shook Hermione to her core.

"Seamus gave you up," Jimmy went on. "He didn't have a choice. He did it to save Alan. It didn't work. Section 7 took him in, too. We can all guess how his night is going."

"What do you mean _gave us up?_" asked Susan.

"He told Malfoy about this meeting," said Jimmy. "He knew already, just didn't know where it was. Now he does. Commandant Weasley confirmed to him about the flat. He gave him access to its location. They have a warrant for Hermione's arrest. They're coming."

"Ron turned her in?!" Susan cried. Hermione shifted as she waited for the response, her skin tingling and flecked with icy spikes.

"Oh, he's been waiting for a chance," Peakes explained. "Now she can be used in the new Lower Blood restraint protocols."

"I've heard about those," said Justin. "What do they do?"

"Spells to restrict movement, tracking charms, muting charms to stop her speaking to anyone Ron doesn't grant explicit permission to do so with," Peakes began, pausing as the anger levels rose in the room. "There are rumours of a blinding jinx, which means Hermione wont be able to physically see anyone Ron doesn't allow her to. She can expect a whole web of mental and memory charms on top of that. Your mind wont be your own for long."

"Where are they?" Hermione asked, shivering inside her jumper.

"By now, they should be turning into your street," said Peakes blithely.

"Out! Now! All of you," Hermione commanded. "They cant do anything if they don't catch you here."

"I'm not leaving," said Susan firmly. "Don't even -"

"Sue...go, just go," said Hermione fiercely. "I'll be alright."

Susan took one last, despairing look at Hermione, hugged her briefly then apparated away just as the Floo glowed acid green as the Patils vanished into the fireplace. Justin stood next, took Luna in his arms and spirited them away before the girl had any chance to protest.

"You too, Jimmy," said Hermione. "It isn't safe."

"I'll go, but not before I deliver you my message."

"What message?"

"The one Ernie told me as he died in my hands," said Peakes, fury warring with grief in his stern eyes. "He said '_help will always be given...to those Gryffindors who ask for it'. _He said you'd know what it meant."

It _couldn't_ be. It was impossible. Despite the doubt, Hermione's heart thrummed softly in a way it hadn't done in five years.

She took a calming breath. "Thank you, Jimmy. I think I understand." Over his shoulder, Hermione's Foe-Glass darkened. "Now go!"

Peakes apparated away just as the door was powerfully kicked in. Draco Malfoy stepped across the threshold, his eyes red and burning in his slit-like sockets. He looked part-reptile these days. The ritual blood magic used to force a Subservience Bond with Lord Voldemort often led to physical transformations in the host. It was rumour heavy that Malfoy had been spliced with a kimodo dragon. It would explain his unnaturally broad shoulders and forked tongue.

Ron was yet to have his own bonding ceremony. They hadn't made it down as far as the 'W's' in the list of those in the direct service of the Dark King. Hermione felt physically sick every time she thought about that impending day. It was coming soon, she was sure of that. She dreaded to think what sort of animal Ron would be unnaturally bound with. He was bad enough as a human.

"Granger," Malfoy hissed as he slithered towards her. His entourage of eight, combat dressed agents entered the room and fanned out around her, all with wands drawn and ready. "Party for one, is it?"

"This is my property, Malfoy. I'm not breaking any laws."

Malfoy raised a thin eyebrow. "Disappearing to a pre-Marital home without the express permission of your truly wedded Lord? You're skirting the borders there, Granger."

Draco Malfoy always called her exclusively by her maiden name. A reminder of her origins. Her low-born origins. She didn't like to be reminded too often. The thought cut to her, tormented her about the lost past. They'd not even let her say goodbye to her parents, the last of that name, whose bodies were now wallowing in one of the mass graves of the Muggle-born Bearers.

"Last time I checked, I was allowed to come and go relatively as I please," Hermione argued. Fear roiled in her belly. Draco's eyes terrified her nearly as much as Voldemort's own.

"Relatively," Draco repeated in sneer. "Lord Weasley is always too lax with you. I'm sure his _consorts_ are granted fewer freedoms than you."

If _that_ was true she pitied those silly bitches even more than before. Having Ron stick his small, ginger cock into one or another of them on a regular basis seemed harsh enough. At least she got to leave the house. Hermione shuddered but steadfastly returned Malfoy's stare.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Word has it that you're hosting your annual _lets-cry-over-that-cunt-Potter-being-dead_ get together here," said Malfoy slickly. "I don't know why I've never been invited, you know. I _love_ celebrating that pricks' death. This is easily my favourite day of the year. On a par with the birth of my firstborn."

Hermione winced at his words. The twisted truth behind them, the pain of her own memories. She blinked back tears she would not shed.

Malfoy stalked around her. "I can see why Lord Weasley keeps you around," he said appraisingly. "You have one hell of an arse on you. Not that _I'd_ ever touch you, so don't get your hopes up. You're a Mudblood. I wouldn't fuck you with another man's dick. But Weasley isn't the prettiest. Beggars cant be choosers. But, still, that's an arse to be reckoned with. In another world, eh, Mudblood."

Hermione dry heaved. Malfoy stepped close, that forked tongue flicking hot spit at her ear. Terror and utter revulsion consumed her. She felt something shift inside. It was dizzying. She daren't pass out. Malfoy may have been a zealous blood-supremacist but others weren't so picky when faced with a free-to-rape female form.

The air shifted again, even Malfoy noticed it. His spiky blond hair perked up as though statically charged. He looked curiously around, unalarmed, but aware of something nearby. Something distinctly _feral. _And angry. Oh yes, it was angry. A fury that had physical form. Or form of some kind. Hermione couldn't honestly pin down what it was. It was as if the very wind around them was about to throw a tantrum.

Then the coin against her chest burned furiously hot. But she felt not an ounce of pain. She clutched it tightly and scrunched her eyes together.

"_**Help me, Harry."**_

Malfoy was taut, as animals are before a storm. He hadn't heard Hermione's unspoken plea. But _someone_ had. A sudden flash of fire above her head drew everyone's attention. It yielded a huge phoenix, far bigger than Hermione could ever remember Fawkes had been. Its rich plumage was deep red, gold and emerald green. It called out in song so beautiful that it brought tears to Hermione's eyes, and so terrible that Malfoy and his agents fell to their knees in agony, clutching at their ears.

Then there was a new sound, equally terrifying. It was a roar so guttural, so furiously angry that it shook the windows of the flat. A truly animalistic snarl smashed the air from behind them and Hermione looked around in utter shock as a gigantic _lion_ crashed through the open door and began indiscriminately slashing huge, razor-clawed paws at the cowering agents, snapping one of their arms between its powerful jaws and ripping it clean off. Blood flashed from the wound and spread out in an astonishing pool.

The lion looked up at Hermione in that moment, its eyes locked intently on hers. Emerald green, startling to behold. Familiarity and understanding flared between them. The lion dropped the severed arm and mewled lowly at the phoenix, who responded with another quavering note of untold beauty, before its talons curled into Hermione's jumper and whipped her away in a swirl of fire, as the lion bared its razor-sharp teeth again.

* * *

When the flames died, Hermione found herself in a very cold, shadowy circular room. The phoenix had not reappeared with her. Wherever she had been deposited, she was quite alone. She stood slowly, gingerly. Her knees were slightly weak and her thighs trembled against the cold air. There was low lying mist, no more than ankle level. There were no windows, no roof that Hermione could discern. It might have been a prison.

But Hermione didn't feel that.

She couldn't have said why, but she felt quite safe here. Calm, despite the drama of her exit from the flat. The walls and floor seemed to hum with subdued energy. It seeped up through her shoes, warmed her skin. There was something comforting about it. It was all very confusing.

A door opened in the darkness and a robed wizard entered. Hermione held her breath for only a second. It wasn't Harry, she could tell that from his walk and posture. Sure, it had been five years, but his body shape was all wrong. This wizard was a bit too rounded, where Harry was wiry and angular in all his motions. The wizard approached her, stopping barely a few feet away. Hermione only then realised she was on a raised platform of sorts, a circular elevation at the centre of the room, sort of like a stage.

The wizard spoke. "Hello, Hermione."

Hermione's breathing literally stopped for a full ten seconds. "_Neville!_ Neville _Longbottom?_ Is that you under there?"

"Yes, Hermione, it's me."

He threw back his hood. But in the dark, Hermione still couldn't really see him. She remembered how he looked last, startled and surprised as he beheaded Voldemort's snake, only to mysteriously vanish himself as the Dark Lord advanced on him. Hermione had thought him to be long dead.

"How is this possible? How are you still alive?" she whispered. Her breath rose as hot steam in front of her. "Can I at least see your face?"

"You haven't stopped being full of questions then," Neville quirked. "It's comforting to know that, despite everything, you're still under there somewhere."

"Let me _see_ you, Neville. Please."

As if in answer to her request, the phoenix exploded into the air above them in an arc of golden flame. Torches crackled into life all around the room, drenching them in warmth and light. Neville drew his wand and deftly conjured two squashy armchairs at the centre of the raised platform, beckoning Hermione to sit as the phoenix soared above them. It circled her as she sat, before coming to a graceful rest on her knee.

"Oh!" Hermione whispered in surprise as the phoenix let a silvery tear fall onto her heavily bruised thigh, before pushing its head under her jumper and letting another fall against her cracked rib. Both healed instantly in a rush of warm energy. Neville stepped forwards, regarding them both with a highly amused look. But there was anger there, too. A very base sort of hatred for whoever had caused her injuries.

"How curious," he mused. "I see you've met Lily."

"Lily," Hermione repeated.

The phoenix cocked her head and looked deeply into Hermione's eyes. She felt pity and concern flood at her from the beautiful bird, who sung another swooning note. Hermione felt it vibrate in her ribs, in her very soul. She choked back a sob, one of intense relief. She felt something break inside, or maybe it was being healed. She wasnt certain. She wanted to hug the bird, but she settled on a gentle smooth of her lushly-feathered head. The phoenix trilled in contentment.

Then Hermione's breathing hitched, as understanding struck hard. "_Lily..._ Neville is...is this _Harry's_ phoenix?"

Neville smiled warmly. He nodded. Lily sung out again in joy at the mention of her master. Hermione felt certain she would faint at the news. She gripped the armrest of her chair to keep from falling off, gripped so hard her knuckles turned white. "Named after his mum, obviously. And she clearly likes you. This is curious bordering on the bizarre."

"You're telling me," Hermione agreed, struggling to maintain her composure.

"No, that's not what I mean," said Neville, still eyeing them with acute interest. "Lily has never gone to another person as far as I know. Never allowed another to even pet her. Not even me. Truth be told, I'm a little bit upset by this display."

He grinned wryly. Hermione, who was unsure of this phantom vision from her past, was glad to see his soft humour. It stilled her stirring worry. She returned his smile as he sat opposite her. It allowed her to get a proper look at him. He looked unspeakably older. Far more than the five years that had passed since they'd last met. His eyes were darker, not just physically but in an undefinable element of his stare, which he now fixed on Hermione. It was like meeting an estranged twin rather than an old friend.

"So this...I mean, _she..._does belong to Harry?"

Neville nodded, grinning at the look of disbelief she could only imagine now crossing her face.

"Then...is he _alive_?"

Neville's face went stony, neutral. Hermione imagined this as a reflex to the question, as though it weren't his first time deflecting it. But he seemed stumped in the face of _her,_ as though somehow _she_ required a different answer to his stock response.

"Neville, please. Is Harry alive?"

Neville sighed. "Yes. Yes he is."

A cry escaped Hermione's throat. Tears stung at her eyes. She was powerless to stop them.

"How? How can that be?" she begged. "I saw him die. We all did. What did I see, Neville?"

"You saw Harry after he was cursed by that dumb cunt Tom Riddle," said Neville harshly. Hermione had never seem him as angry and militant as this. "It's a curse that half-dead snake fucker will sorely regret, trust me. When Harry gets his hands on him..."

Neville tailed off and closed his eyes. The look of enjoyment at whatever it was he was envisaging made something stir in Hermione's chest. She swatted it down. She didn't want to invite that into her mind. It felt teasingly like _hope_.

"So where is he?" Hermione asked. She looked around, half-expecting him to stride out of the shadows. "Can I see him?"

"You _have_ seen him. As for where he is, I think, at about this time, he's probably moping up what remains of Mr Malfoy's entourage," said Neville, dryly.

_**Oh my god**_. Hermione tried to process the information. It flowed over her like a tide of gritty sand. She had suspected it at the flat, but to have it confirmed was something else.

"Harry was...he..._animagus?"_

Neville laughed aloud. "It was the first thing we learned together. Entry level process to higher level magic. Harry mastered it within eight months. I can barely change without feeling like my limbs are being torn apart."

"_You_ are an animagi?" asked Hermione, immediately ashamed at her tone of surprise. Neville raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem offended. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," said Neville with another chuckle. "I only started to express my true magical potential after I broke my Dad's wand and took my own. It took me years to catch up. Working so closely with Harry has certainly helped. He's an extraordinary wizard. The things he's doing with magic..."

"Nev...I _have _to see him," Hermione moaned. "I've missed him _so_ much. I cant believe he's still alive. I'm _aching_ not being able to tell him how much I've missed him."

Neville sighed sadly. "You may never be able to tell him."

"Why not?"

"I don't think Harry will actually consent to seeing you," said Neville.

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Why not?"

Neville wrung his hands in his lap. "You have to understand, Hermione, Harry has changed. He's...different. He's pretty confident you wont like the new him. Also, he is pretty sure _you_ wont want to _see_ him. He's terrifically guilty, you see. He thinks you hate him. He certainly hates himself."

"For what?"

"For leaving you. For entrusting you to..."

Neville's tone was laced with acidic hatred. Hermione was taken aback by it.

"To Ron?"

Neville hissed like someone had poured lime juice into an open wound. The room around them seemed to vibrate with anger and markings on the floor, which Hermione hadn't noticed before, flared briefly in vivid colours. Even Lily spat viciously. Hermione sat back in shock.

"Do _not_ mention his name around here," Neville said darkly. "It's enough to make Harry destroy a few research labs, a potions store and several endangered magical creatures. That's on a good day."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. "Harry feels like...why, Neville?"

Neville shook his head at her. "For the brightest witch of our age, you are acting very dumb. In fact, you're as stubborn as Harry on this issue."

Hermione sat stock still as though petrified, though she couldn't have said why. Neville took her silence as a further indication of her denseness.

"Harry wont thank me for saying this, but this is the only area in which he shows any sort of cowardess. So I suppose I'd better," Neville began. "It would be doing my Blood Brother a disservice if I didn't."

"Blood Brother?"

"Yes, we performed a ritual," said Neville. "We were both touched by the Prophecy. Riddle could have picked either of us. Fate had gifted us both with such a powerful basis of magic that either of us could have been the child of the prophecy. Riddle picked one, but that didn't mean the other was diminished. Harry sought me out as soon as he could, as soon as he knew. We bonded through blood, we became more powerful as brothers and we declared Riddle a mortal enemy of us both. Seriously, that serpentine fuckwit has no _idea_ what's coming at him."

Hermione was stirred again. It brought tears of excitement to her eyes. Neville wasn't even in doubt. It might as well have been a foregone conclusion. He and Harry were going to do battle with and beat Voldemort. It would have been such a ludicrous idea a few hours ago, but Hermione found herself believing it.

So...this disservice?" she prompted.

Neville grinned at her. "Harry cares for you more deeply than you have ever, or likely will ever, know. Perhaps more deeply than he'd ever be able to confess to you. This isn't new. He always has. But you know Harry, he's still as stupid as ever where his emotions are concerned. Cant blame him, really. Our bond allowed us to share memories. Fuck me, Hermione. The _abuse _he had to put up with as a child. I'm surprised he formed even the most basic of relationships after that. Living in a fucking _cupboard_ for eleven years..._eleven years_! What the fuck is that about?"

Hermione couldn't answer that. The bottom had just fallen out of her world. Her anguish was agonising, she couldn't process it. Harry had lived in a what...a _cupboard?_...Neville had to be wrong. Harry had never said a thing. And the emphasis Neville had put on abuse...Hermione knew all about that, it was part and parcel of her life. But to imagine Harry, as a young boy going through it...someone might as well have speared her heart.

But even within this wave of grief was something else. Neville's earnest admission that Harry cared for her sparked something within her heart. She tried to swat it away. She wasn't used to feeling such things. Being _cared for_, being _liked_...that belonged in a parallel universe.

"So why wont he see me?" she asked tentatively. "If he cares so much, as you say, he must still consider me a friend?"

"He doesn't think you are _his_ friend," Neville explained. "Much of this is for Harry to say, not me."

"But if he wont see me..."

"Then you'll just have to accept his protection without ever seeing him," said Neville flatly. "It might be the best you can hope for."

"Neville, you really aren't making any sense," said Hermione. "Cant you at least explain what's happened tonight?"

Neville scrutinised her. "Okay, maybe that I can do. It might help you understand the other things. To start with, Riddle didn't kill Harry five years ago. Accept that, process it. Harry has spent the time since preparing himself to fight that Dark Bastard and beat him for good. He didn't come back sooner because he couldn't, but that's for him to explain. But he didn't know that you were suffering until recently. And he fucking hates himself for it. He thought that absolutely shitehawk Weasley would have protected you. He blames himself almost entirely for all that you've suffered. The only reason...I repeat, _the only reason_...he resurfaced tonight is because you were in danger. He came back because of _you."_

Hermione felt herself fall apart at the admission. But Neville wasn't done.

"They know it's him. He's just not surfaced in his form in such a direct confrontation before. But now they will know he's back. We weren't sure he was entirely ready. If you _do_ see him...don't hate him."

"Why would I hate him? That's nonsense!"

"Not in his mind, and - as I've shared it - not in mine either. He thinks he left you to your fate, he thinks that's your opinion, too. It might be. It's rational."

"But where did he go for all these years? What happened to him?"

"That's for him to tell you, if he ever decides to," said Neville dismissively. "Harry doesn't speak very much these days. I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"But he is alive," she said, almost to herself. "Is he well? Healthy?"

Neville grinned and laughed. "He's at war. Make of that what you will."

Hermione's heart ached. Harry was alive, he wouldn't see her, but he was alive. It was worse in some ways. Hermione couldn't get her head around the way the day had gone.

Then Lily the phoenix began to sing. It was a gorgeous aria. Hermione felt the song vibrate all through her body. It empowered her. She might as well have stuck her finger into a plug socket. She felt unreasonably happy as the beautiful bird sang on her knee. Sang _to_ her, as bizarre as the notion seemed.

"Lily's happy," Hermione whispered to Neville. "I can _feel_ it."

"Well, of course she's happy," said Neville. "Harry's home."


	3. The Terrible Head Dragon

**Disclaimer: **Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery, frank sex discussions, the fucking fucking Weasley's. I'm exploring dark places in my writing, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

The door to the chamber opened again. Hermione looked up expectantly, her heart yearning for Harry. But, again, it was not he who entered. A witch was approaching them. She was similarly robed to Neville and she moved with a grace and ease that Hermione envied. She'd never really walked properly since that time she'd been disciplined by Ron for staying out too late on one of Susan Bones' birthday parties.

The witch stepped up onto the platform and stopped at Neville's side.

"Harry's injured," she said sharply. "We need to prepare the ritual circle for healing right away."

Neville stood. "Where are your manners?" he admonished. "We have guests."

The witch pulled back her hood. Hermione saw that she was astonishingly beautiful. Porcelain skin framed by shiny black hair, which fell past her shoulders in shimmering waves. She had watery blue eyes and a soft look that made Hermione think of the sun coming out after the rain. And the way she spoke about Harry...it made Hermione unreasonably jealous.

She needn't have worried.

"Hermione, may I introduce my - rather uncouth - wife, Enola," said Neville, sliding an arm around the witch's waist. She smiled back warmly. The affection between them resonated off the pair like a visceral heat. Hermione felt that jealousy and longing surge again.

"Wife?" she repeated, gathering her senses. "Congratulations, Nev. You've gone from dead to married in the space of half an hour!"

Enola laughed and held a hand for Hermione to shake. "Wait till you hear about our daughter!"

"Daughter?" said Hermione, her mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "I'm amazed you brought a child into a world like this."

Neville fixed her with a steely determined look, but it was his wife who answered.

"She wasn't planned," said Enola. "But she was the happiest accident we could have imagined. Besides, when Harry and Neville fix this broken world it will be quite the beautiful playground for her."

"Is she...I mean...has she shown any signs of witchcraft?"

"Alison is barely one year old," Neville explained. "She has learned to turn the nightlight of her crib on and off, but that's about it. Accidental magic doesn't come easily in my family. I'm sure her babbling counts as advanced spell work in her little mind though."

Neville and Enola shared a fond look.

"I'd love to meet her, if you'll allow me," said Hermione. "Merlin, its been so long since I've had anything to be happy about. Meeting a baby might be just the tonic."

"You'd have to prize her away from the in-laws," said Enola in a good-natured huff. "I can hardly get a cuddle with my own daughter when those two are around."

Hermione stared at Neville. He grinned at her. "But your parents, Neville..."

"Were long-stay patients at St. Mungo's, yes," said Neville quickly. "Harry and I liberated them a long time ago. We knew that Riddle and his Cleansing Squads would get rid of the elderly and the infirm first to build their new order. The permanently baffled were high on that list too. Harry rescued them years ago."

"And you leave your daughter with them!" cried Hermione. "Is that _wise_...you know...with their condition."

It was Enola who grinned this time. "She doesn't know?" she queried at her husband. Neville shook his head. They seemed to be taking great delight in shedding wondrous light on Hermione's world.

"Frank and Alice are perfectly well," Enola explained. "Harry devised a complex ritual which, with my Nev's help, managed to repair the damage to their minds. They are quite sane these days. Well, as sane as a Longbottom can be!"

Neville and Enola laughed together. The sound was like honey. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd heard genuine mirth. She looked at Neville in astonishment.

"I told you," said Neville, smiling. "The things Harry is doing with magic these days...well, they'd take your breath away."

"Speaking of our Lord and Master," said Enola. "He'll be waiting. We need to get the space cleaned."

"Right you are, love," said Neville. He offered Hermione a hand and she stood from the armchair. "We have to prepare this space for ritual, Hermione. Only Harry and his inner circle can be in here for that. Let us get you settled so you can rest. Enola can show you to your room."

"My room? I don't understand."

"Ennie will explain, as much as she can," said Neville. "Harry's been intending to bring you here for the longest time. He expected you to be coming with that red-headed prick you excuse for a husband, but the suite he prepared will be just yours now. Don't even bother arguing. You aren't going anywhere. Harry wont allow you out of his sight now."

"But he wont see me?" Hermione queried.

"Harry doesn't need eyes to see," said Neville. "And a good thing, too."

He chortled and Enola joined in, somewhat guiltily. Hermione was confused.

"Come on, Miss Hermione, lets get out of here so the boys can play with their little symbols," said Enola, taking Hermione's hand from Neville. Hermione was stupefied beyond the point of resistance. Tiredness was hitting hard. She barely registered Neville's instruction for Enola to administer her a dreamless sleep potion.

"And don't you go getting too exhausted in the cleansing," said Enola seriously. "Alison's with your parents tonight. I fully expect you to fulfil your husbandly duties to me in her absence."

"Is that a subtle way of asking me to make love to you?" asked Neville, an eyebrow cocked.

"I could just say, '_get up to bed in an hour and fuck the arse off of me,' _if you'd prefer."

"I would _definitely_ prefer," said Neville. He leaned in and pecked his wife on the cheek. "You keep that filth for later."

"You know I will," said Enola. She turned and guided Hermione away from the ritual chamber and out of a different side door to the one she'd entered via.

* * *

Hermione was mindless of her surroundings as they walked. She was loosely aware of handsome corridors, like that of a stately home, but little else. It was dimly lit, but not by candlelight. Hermione totted up the new questions that arose in her foggy mind. She was on one hundred and twelve by now. She allowed herself to be led up a large flight of red and gold carpeted stairs and into a vast sitting chamber, and further on into a spacious circular bedroom.

Enola helped Hermione to sit on the bed. It was firm but comfy and seemed to mould itself to the contours of her body. Enola drew a slim, whitewood wand and cast a Concealing Charm over Hermione from the neck down, before easing her out of her clothes. She was powerless to protest, but Neville's wife was gentle and considerate and Hermione felt safe in her hands. Enola frowned at each bruise on Hermione's skin, dark even through the shimmering cloak of the charm.

"Then it's true what he's been doing to you?" Enola muttered angrily. "No wonder Harry is so furious."

Hermione tried to regain some cogency. "Do you know Harry well?"

Enola smiled. "Very. He performed the Marriage Bond for me and Nev. And he's Alison's Godfather. He dotes on her like she's his own. She may be the only human not terrified of him at first sight, because of his scar, obviously. I think he loves her fiercely for that. I couldn't have wished for a better brother-in-law."

Hermione felt her heart swell at the tender tone in Enola's voice. She felt a pang of longing cut through her chest. The need to see Harry was intense just now. Then she swung back into the conversation.

"His scar isn't _that_ bad."

Enola started. She looked down guiltily. "Oh, shit, I forgot how much you don't know. Nev will be pissed with me for giving that away. He'll spank me for it...well, if I'm lucky."

She winked at Hermione, then looked horrified in the next breath. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry...I didn't think...forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," said Hermione dryly. "I can still remember there's a difference between sex spanking and being whacked across the thighs with a sharp-napped paddle. Or being punched in the face. I've had that more times than I care to remember."

Enola couldn't resist anymore. She pulled Hermione into a bone-breaking hug. "You poor, poor thing! I'm so sorry for you. It wont make up for it, but I know that Harry plans to punish your husband just as badly as Tom Riddle. He speaks even more bitterly about him than the Twat Lord, if you can imagine it. And when Harry talks angrily, things tend to blow up or shatter. I wouldn't want to be in either of their shoes."

Hermione's chest swirled again. She couldn't help it. She wasn't one to normally advocate violence, but the last five years had conditioned her to thinking it was simply part of life now. The very thought that Harry was so angry with Ron over his treatment of her that his very words would smash him to pieces...well, there was something almost darkly sexual about that.

"You should get some rest, Miss Hermione," said Enola, holding open the covers and coaxing Hermione under them. "I'll find you a nightie and a dressing gown for the morning. You're okay to sleep in just your underwear for tonight?"

"Yes, and thank you, Enola," said Hermione. "I can call you that, yeah?"

"Well, it is my name," said Enola grinning lightly.

"You've been so kind. Thank you."

"It's the least I can do," said Enola. "Looks like no-one's shown you any sort of love in a good while. And I hope we can be friends. I'd like to think I'd get on with the person Harry speaks the most highly about in the world. I've been ever so keen to meet you for the longest time."

Hermione felt herself blush. What had happened to make Harry express such sentiments about her? It was curious to say the least. It did nothing to ease the ache of knowing he was so close, but apparently determined to keep his distance from her. She wanted to go and shake the silliness out of him. But this was tempered by the notion that 'silly' wasn't something to be associated with Harry Potter these days. There was that undeniable edge in the tones of people who spoke about him. It painted him as dangerous.

"Do you think Harry will see me tomorrow?"

Enola sighed sadly. "No, not tomorrow. The healing ritual will tire him out. He'll need to rest up himself."

"Was he badly injured?" asked Hermione, sitting up.

"Don't you worry yourself about that," said Enola, rounding the bed and fluffing the pillows for Hermione to lay back on. "Harry's tough as dragonhide. And Neville and the other members of his Inner Circle will fix him up right enough. He wouldn't be thrilled to think you were bothering yourself about it. He thinks you're worth the injuries, so just put it from your mind. If the lights flicker a bit, don't panic. These rituals require a lot of power. Harry will pull it from all over the palace if he needs it."

"Palace?"

Enola laughed. "It'll all be explained. You just need to get some rest. Do you need a potion to help you sleep?"

"No, I'm knackered in truth," said Hermione. She bit on her bottom lip. "Will you sit with me until I drift off?"

"Of course," Enola smiled. She really was breathtakingly beautiful. She brushed a lock of stray hair from Hermione's temple. "You poor girl. You must be exhausted all through."

Hermione nodded her agreement.

"Don't worry. Get a good nights sleep and it'll all start to look better in the morning. These beds are spelled so you'll be well rested when you get up."

"Thank you again," said Hermione, yawning widely. Three seconds later and she was in the deepest sleep she'd had in years.

* * *

Harry stood up from the centre of the ritual circle. The rune markings around the dais dimmed as the ritual ended. Neville drew his wand and pulled the remaining magic from the runes. He slashed a new shape in the air, like a crooked goalpost of red fire, infused it with the lingering magic and pressed it into Harry as he gingerly got to his feet. Harry groaned as the healing rune swept through him.

"Thanks," he croaked. "You're getting fucking good at that."

Neville grinned. "I've been practising with Enola."

"For fucks sake, Nev," said Harry, pulling his robe on. "I do _not_ want to know about you and Ennie and your runic sex."

"Why not? You taught me how to do it. And you're right...it's fucking hot. With the right combos she squirts like a fucking volcano!"

"Neville - shut up," said Harry.

"I have to heal her to calm her down..."

Harry shook his head and threw his deep hood on. He took a steadying breath, glancing briefly at Neville from the corner of his eye. "How is she?"

"Normally so turned on I can get her to a screaming orgasm just through anal."

Harry huffed. "I'll tell Enola you're sharing all this with me, you know."

"Go ahead," said Neville, unabashed. "You know you're welcome to join us any time. She's often suggested I invite you along."

"Fuck me, Nev."

"That's kind of the idea, but as _technically_ we're related..."

"I will curse that filth out of you," said Harry lowly. Neville just laughed. "You know what I meant. How's Hermione?"

"Wounded beyond belief," Neville replied, sighing deeply. "Worse than we could have imagined."

Harry clenched his fists, his jaw grinding. The runes in the room flickered again. Neville placed a firm hand on his chest. They breathed together and Harry mastered his anger, pushing it into the well he was building. It had the potency of a small nuclear device at this point.

"Don't waste that," Neville hissed warningly. "Now isn't the time."

"I know, I know," said Harry, his breath coming in ragged, shallow spurts.

"She wants to see you, Harry," Neville went on. "She doesn't blame you. You should give her more credit. She's stronger than you think."

"I know that, too," said Harry, pulling away. "I just _can't,_ Nev. I don't deserve to. After all I did to her..."

"You didn't do anything, brother," said Neville turning Harry firmly by the shoulders. He was the only person that Harry let this close, let alone allowed to touch him. Anyone else would be ashes by now. "That cunt Ron did all this to her. Failed her in every way imaginable. If you'd guessed what was happening you'd have kidnapped her years ago, you know that."

"She'll never forgive me. Not if she's as bad as you say."

"Her physical wounds will heal," said Neville. "Her emotional ones will be harder but if you bring her into ritual, we can cleanse her of those, too. She wants to see you, she _needs to_. And you know what? You need to, too. You don't want to admit it, but you need _her_ to heal _you_. Do yourself a favour, go to her. Let her fix all that's broken with you. Fix each other, for fucks sake. Then just shag the fuck out of each other like you should have back at Hogwarts!"

Harry couldn't stop a laugh at this. He didn't approve of his own laughter as a rule. There wasn't much call for it in his life these days. But the idea of shagging Hermione was as laughable as it was desired. She'd never let him that close, and even if she did she'd be repulsed by him when she saw his condition. He pulled up his scarf under his hood as he thought about it, hiding his scar.

"I can't see her, Nev. Not yet. She wont understand."

"No, she wont," Neville agreed. "But you'd better find somewhere good to hide, because if I know Hermione, she'll be plotting seven different ways to find you, whether you like it or not."

* * *

The morning light suffused the pink lilies in the big vase on the windowsill. It was a bizarrely pretty sight for Hermione to wake up to. She was used to the drab grey of the bedroom she was assigned at the Hengest camp manor. This room was elegant, furnished with taste and beautifully decorated. It was like something out of a regency novel.

The window had been opened slightly and a slight breeze was filtering in. May was proving to be quite a warm one this year and Hermione was glad of the airiness of the room. The fluffy quilt was lovely and comforting, but a little stifling in the early morning warmth. Not that she was about to complain. She stretched on the huge bed and yawned with a creaky groan. Then she was startled by a little squeak.

"Ah! Miss Hermione not supposed to be awake! She not supposed to see!"

Hermione sat up, startled, to see a little house-elf at the foot of the bed. She was laying out a cotton night-dress and a long, cosy dressing gown. She froze as Hermione looked at her.

"Hello," said Hermione sleepily.

"Miss Hermione not supposed to see!" the elf whispered again. She was visibly shaking. "Master Harry be _very_ clear. Oh! He be so cross when he finds out."

Hermione frowned. "Harry will be cross with you? Because I've seen you?"

The elf nodded. "Master Harry know Miss Hermione's thinkings on house-elves. Though she be totally wrong, he knows her thinkings. And he be so cross."

"He wont _punish_ you, will he?"

The elf snorted. "Master Harry? Punish an elf? Oh no. But he request me do other jobs, and I _so_ wanted this one. All elves did. I did Dance of Joy for six hours when I got picked."

"Picked for what?"

"To take care of Miss Hermione," said the elf, hopping up onto the bed. "All elves be wanting the job of looking after Master Harry's favouritest witch, and Master Harry be picking me. Even though I be one of the youngest."

Hermione blushed furiously at the elf's gushing words, and the sentiment behind them. She decided that when she finally found Harry she was either going to slap him silly or kiss him senseless at this rate. She just hadn't decided which just yet.

"But now Master Harry be sending me to the greenhouses or something," said the elf sadly. "Miss Hermione only been here two days and Sally gets herself seen already."

"Sally? Is that your name?" the elf nodded. "Wait...two days? I've been here _two days_?"

"Oh yes," said Sally simply. "Miss Hermione be very tired. Need to rest a lot. Master Harry came in and did the prettiest spells on you. You sleep like baby Ally. Though Master Harry not sing to _you_. Sally thinks this for the best, Miss!"

The elf giggled.

Hermione was sat fully up now. "Did you say Harry came in to see me?"

"Yes, Miss," said Sally, excitedly. She seemed to enjoy talking about Harry. "Only when he sure you be sleeping, Miss. Sally had to triple-look. Then Master Harry come in and just sit with you for hours. Then he cast pretty spells on you before he goes away. Healing ones, Miss. Powerful. Sally not seen the like."

Hermione fluttered all over. The images swashing about in her brain were enough to make her giddy. But she was sensible enough to know that she felt better, more so than she had in years. She was energetic, invigorated. She wanted to get up and run about. It was a weird sensation.

"Is Harry here now?" she asked.

"Oh no, Miss," said Sally. "Master Harry always be coming and going, Miss. And now he be going. But he be back. He always come back."

"Where's he gone?"

"Sally not be knowing this, Miss. Master Harry have lots of secrets. Only Master Neville know, and not even he half the time."

There was a little _pop_ and another elf blinked into view. This one was older, and much sterner looking. Her bulb like eyes swelled when she saw Hermione and Sally openly chatting.

"Sally-elf!" she admonished. "You's be being _seen,_ silly elf! Master Harry be so cross with you when he knows!"

"Please tell Harry not to be cross," Hermione pleaded. "I woke up early and saw Sally. It's my fault. Please, tell Harry not to punish her."

The elder elf looked swarthily at Hermione. "Master Harry never punish an elf, 'cept by being disappointed in them."

"That punishment enough," Sally sobbed suddenly.

"Please don't cry," said Hermione, getting up and drawing Sally into a hug as her little body was wracked with rocking tears. She turned to the other elf. "Excuse me, can you tell me your name?"

"I is Rhian, Master Harry's Head Elf," said Rhian proudly, puffing out her little chest.

"Well, Rhian, it's nice to meet you," said Hermione. "Could you please tell Harry not to punish Sally and I'd be very grateful if she could be allowed to continue to look after me. Tell him it would be a great favour to me."

Rhian eyed her blithely. "I be's thinking Miss Hermione already know how to bend Master Harry's will. She know he wont deny her _any_ favour. I be keeping close eye on you, Miss."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you."

"Hmm. Lady Enola be wanting to know if you awake. She be looking forward to breakfast with you, Miss."

Hermione's stomach rumbled at the mention of breakfast. She realised she was very hungry.

"I'd be delighted to, but...I don't know the way," said Hermione.

"Sally show you, Miss!" said Sally euphorically, bouncing off the bed. "Dressed then brekkie. Come along, Miss. Sally help."

Rhian shook her head, making her large ears flop ridiculously, then popped away to leave them to it. Sally was a vivacious elf. She conjured a dozen outfits before Hermione finally settled on simple summer dress, floral patterned with a white cotton cardigan to complete the look. Sally then led Hermione back through the house to the breakfast room.

The trip allowed Hermione a better look at her surroundings. The house was expensively decorated, but tastefully so. There was nothing opulent or gaudy about any of the furniture or decorations, but the wealth of its owner was obvious in every piece Hermione saw. Whoever was mistress of this place must be one lucky witch, she thought to herself. It was like an alternate universe outside of the dark country now ruled over by Lord Voldemort. Hermione marvelled that such a place could even exist in her modern idea of the world.

Sally opened the doors to a pretty parlour and bowed Hermione inside before scuttling away. The windows were full East and sunlight steamed in from the floor-to-ceiling panes. A large table was set with pastries and toast and crumpets and vats of coffee and tea. Enola was sat there with a few other witches and rose to greet Hermione as she entered the room.

"Hermione! You're awake!" she squealed as she hugged her. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione considered her answer. "Actually, I'm alright. And trust me, that's a _massive_ improvement."

"I bet," said Enola. "Come on, let me introduce you to the other girls."

There were four other witches at the table. One was an older lady that looked distinctly like Neville. Hermione could only stare in wonder as she was introduced to Alice Longbottom, the famous Auror tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. That was an experience they had in common and, one day, perhaps they'd get to exchange notes on it. She was holding a baby swaddled in blankets. Little Alison Longbottom looked like she wasn't going to be free any time soon. Hermione grinned at the notion.

The other three witches were all around Hermione's age. None older than twenty-five. The youngest was Enola's best friend, Cassiopeia, though she promptly told Hermione that she would refuse to respond to her unless she called her Cassie. The other two were called Myfanwy and Angharad, which quickly allowed Hermione to guess their location. Their language was a little more difficult to decipher. The rapid Welsh dialect might as well have been an alien language for all Hermione could understand of it.

"Don't mind Fan and Ann," said Enola, smirking as she watched Hermione fruitlessly trying to dissect their conversation. "They are so lezzed up that they even invented their own language to keep cocks away."

Cassie and Alice laughed as Hermione blushed.

"First mention of cock and it's not even midday," said Myfanwy shaking her head. "You _seriously_ need to get laid, Ennie."

"There's always room in our bed," Angharad added, nodding in agreement. "And we have more dildos than you can shake a wand at." She turned to Hermione. "When you're all fixed up, love, you're welcome to borrow some. You must be in _dire_ need of an orgasm or twelve."

Hermione's blush was giving off its own heat by this point.

"Ann, give it a rest," said Alice, quietly. She cooed at the baby in her arms.

Angharad was unmoved. "What? Too soon? She's been battered black and blue by some arsehole wizard. Probably raped to fuck by him to boot. If he hasn't ruined her completely, some self-love will be a hell of a therapy. Sorry, love, Enola had to tell us about the bruises."

Hermione cowered under their collective pity and drew her cardigan tight around her, as though she could disappear if she wished hard enough for it. Enola reached out and gave her forearm a comforting squeeze.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," Enola whispered. "I was just so mad when I saw. We're here for you if you need anything, I hope you know that."

Hermione choked back a sob that slammed into her throat, as tears of gratitude stung behind her eyes. Words utterly failed her.

"She wont need fake cock anyway," Myfanwy went on, hoping to lighten the mood. "If Harry's attention to her is anything to go by, she'll have him on tap if she wants."

Myfanwy winked at Hermione, who smiled sheepishly back.

"Fan!" cried Enola. "For Merlin's sake. The girls' been through hell and back. This is the last thing she's thinking about right now!"

"Bollocks," Myfanwy retorted dismissively, taking a crumpet and buttering it. "Let's be fair, we'd all shag the shite out of Harry given half the chance. I'm a pussy girl, myself, and I'd _still_ let him fuck me blind."

"Here, here," said Alice, tipping her tea cup in salute. "But lets tone the language down, ladies. There are infants in the room."

"It doesn't even matter about the one eye thing," Cassie pondered over her tea cup. "It's the _other_ thing with one eye that matters. And I bet _that_ works all too well!"

Alice and Myfanwy laughed but Enola looked at Cassie in pointed horror. She hissed an admonishment at her. "Cass! She doesn't _know!"_

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. The air around the table became suddenly dense and serious.

"Oh crap," said Cassie, utterly ashamed. "I'm really sorry. I didn't think..."

"What don't I know?" asked Hermione, trying to keep her voice steady.

"A hell of lot about where we are, and what's happened to Harry," said Alice, taking on the mantle of mouthpiece. "Forgive us, dear, we forget that you've been in the throes of that hellish world out there. We take what we have for granted. We can laugh and joke and talk about sex toys at breakfast. The _real_ world seems like another universe sometimes."

"That's mostly Harry's doing," said Myfanwy, her voice much softer now. "He's done so much to provide us with a protected world here."

"And Neville, too," added Angharad, nodding at Enola, who swelled with pride. "Together they have worked so hard for us all."

"But its had its price," Alice went on. "They both have the battle scars to prove it. Harry's are more obvious, but I know my boy suffers much more than he lets on."

Hermione shook in horror. Harry had _more_ scars? Was that what Enola meant about her daughter not judging Harry as she was only a baby? How bad was it?

"Harry's scar..."

Both Myfanwy and Angharad visibly winced. Even Enola shifted in her seat. Cassie scrunched her eyes tight and gulped her tea with a shiver. Alice, however, was staunchly unmoved.

"It's not the most pleasant thing, to be sure," she said. "It happened when he was cursed in the Forbidden Forest. Killing Curses leave a hell of an impression, Hermione. Tom Riddle was _very _angry with Harry when he tried to kill him that night. The curse reflects that. Try not to react _too_ badly when you see it. Most people are shocked to their foundations. It's a reflexive response and Harry understands that. Sort of. But that sound of a disgusted gasp is a sure-fire way to make Harry shut down in front of your eyes. I've seen it happen. It takes a little bit of light from his face each time it does."

"How bad it is?"

"It took one of his eyes. In truth, it took much of that whole side of his face."

Hermione threw up a hand to catch her gasp. Tears spilled from her own eyes without warning.

"Harry will probably tell me off for telling you any of this," said Alice. "But it isn't right that you aren't prepared for it. I know that Harry is pinning a lot of hope on you not completely hating and rejecting him on sight. He wont say a word of it, of course, but it's the worst kept secret in the entire palace. I'd hate for him to be so devastated by your reaction that he retreats back into himself again. It's taken so long to get him out of there."

Enola nodded in agreement and closed her eyes. Baby Alison began to cry at that moment.

"She needs a feed and a change," said Enola. "Slide her over, Alice. I'll take her to the nursery. I'm sure we don't need nappies at the breakfast table."

"Eww, no," said Myfanwy. "Pass the coffee before you go."

Enola raised her eyebrows. "Lesbianism is _not_ an excuse for laziness." She passed the coffee pot anyway as Myfanwy made a face back at her. Enola turned to Hermione. "Fancy helping me change a baby? You'll have to take a turn looking after her at some point if you're staying. No better way of introducing you to each other than to have you wipe her bum!"

"Ennie you are disgusting," said Cassie. "Please do it, Hermione. It saves me a turn. And I've just done my nails this morning."

Hermione grinned. Three days ago the idea of changing a baby might as well have been the stuff of science fiction. Now, Hermione was relishing the prospect of such a task.

"I'd be happy to," said Hermione. Cassie beamed at her and mouthed a silent '_thank you_'. Hermione smiled back before following Enola, who was gently rocking her baby as she left the room.

* * *

The nursery was on an upper floor of the house, which was looking more like the 'palace' everyone kept calling it with each of the many new rooms Hermione clocked as she made her way around. She seriously doubted she'd find her way about without a map. The nursery itself was a cute little room. The paint on the walls was charmed to reflect baby Alison's mood. Now it was a vibrant, daisy-yellow, as she laughed and giggled as Enola blew raspberries against her little belly. Hermione watched them fondly. She was loathe to even _think_ the word _broody_.

"No kids yourself?" asked Enola when she caught Hermione staring.

"No, thank fuck," Hermione blurted out. She blushed sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to swear. Or to decry your motherhood."

Enola laughed. "It's fine, really. Alison's first word will be a swear of some sort. Neville has a filthy mouth. His mother is always on at him about it. And I love being a Mum, now I'm used to it. I was terrified at first, but I have a great husband and Harry is like a second father to my little girl, really. I'm so, so lucky. I literally cant imagine what it was like for you...out in the_ real_ world."

Hermione scuffed her foot sadly. "I don't have a strong enough vocabulary to do it justice. I think not getting pregnant is my only blessing. I don't know whether my body or my magic just refused to let it happen or what. It was wrong to conceive something so pure from an act so false and forced."

Enola fastened a nappy to Alison, who was doing her utmost to squirm free. "Wasn't it _ever_ nice?"

Hermione sat on a chair in the corner. "No, never. As soon as Voldemort took over he gave all the families a simple choice - align with him or die. The Purebloods went right to the top. Positions of power and authority, no matter how mediocre they were. Half-bloods and Muggleborns were put on lists and assigned to work based on usefulness. We were promised it would make us free, and earn higher status. Especially if we married into Pureblood lines. We were given menial tasks, forced labour, the grunt work for the New Order. Then when that usefulness passed, people just disappeared.

"I never thought Ron would go along with it. Never. Arthur, his father, tried to escape abroad with his family. But Ron, his elder brothers Charles and Percy, and his sister, refused to go. Even after their mother had been smuggled out. They'd all been made promises by Voldemort and took them. Ginny even became one of Voldemort's chief concubines. A Mother of the New Order, as they call them. She has at least two children by him."

Hermione shuddered at the thought and hugged into herself, as though trying to forget. But these were wounds that ran very deep.

"Arthur was so broken at leaving them behind. Especially when his son, George, took his own life in a suicide attack on Diagon Alley about a year after The Accession."

"Where are they now?" asked Enola.

"I have no idea," said Hermione. "Ron tried to use his connections in Europe to track them, but his oldest brother and his wife took Arthur and Molly to Egypt. Ron couldn't get any further after the European Council of Magic closed the borders on Great Britain. We did learn that his mother died shortly after reaching Egypt. I imagine it was of a broken heart. Her family were _everything_ to her."

Enola closed her eyes sadly. Hermione's echoing sentiment was not lost on the young wife and mother, but after years of bottling up her hatred, Hermione's words were tumbling over themselves to get out of her now.

"Ginny got Ron his job with the Registration Commission, and his promotion to the Squib camp, too. He's a fucking useless, idle wizard, always has been. But it turns out he has a knack for bullying, torturing and intimidating the weak and helpless. The Squibs have no chance with him. And the more vicious he is, the more he ingratiates himself with the higher-ups. He's quickly become a poster child for this mania."

"Yes, we know that much," said Enola, darkly. "When Harry first found out about Ron's job he was stunned. I've never seen him so shocked. He didn't speak for fully three days together. He was unbelievably angry. And the _guilt_...over you...well, it was a phenomenon. Neville had to take him to an ancient Druid ritual space, gather everyone he could to build defensive wards, then just let Harry explode within it. I was there. It's the only time I've ever felt genuinely afraid of Harry. He was like an uncontrollable force. Our Charms barely held. He exhausted himself just before he smashed through. We all had to rest for days after to recover."

Hermione sat back, shocked. "What would have happened if he'd broken through?"

Enola sighed with a huff. "I imagine he would have given Wales a new fault line in the Earth!"

"Wow!" Hermione breathed. "Is he really that powerful?"

"That and more," said Enola, conversationally. "He and Neville have delved deep into the old arts of ritual magic since Harry was introduced to them. His mentors on this subject have described his abilities in this area as bordering on the innate. He has an understanding for natural powers and abstract magic that can, at times, seem absurd. I haven't seen the plans he has for Ron and Riddle, but Neville practically floats when he and Harry have a strategy session about them. And the way he makes love to me after...it takes my breath away."

Hermione perked up at that. There was something about this vision of Harry that sparked in her. The idea of him dabbling with such forms of magic was almost intoxicating. Hermione was rueful, pounded by regrets that she couldn't be involved. It sounded fascinating and that bubble of hope that she'd tried so hard to resist was now firmly ensconced within her.

"But how did he get into all that?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, Hermione, that isn't my story to tell," said Enola, cuddling and burping baby Alison on her shoulder. "Neville has asked me not to reveal too much about Harry's missing years. Well, missing to _you_. I've been around for almost all of them. Harry has secrets and stories that he may or may not reveal to anyone. I can't break that trust. I wont. I hope you can understand."

Hermione frowned. "Of course I understand. I don't _like_ it, but I wont ask you to break a promise for someone you barely know."

Enola smiled. "Harry would be _upset_ if I told you, but he'd forgive me. Only because it's _you_, of course. If I told any of the other girls even half of what I know...Harry would probably never speak to me again."

Hermione felt another of those rushes of heat flow into her chest and her face coloured again. She was truly angry at Harry at that moment. He was making her feel so special and vaunted, but he wasn't around to ask what the hell he was playing at, or why he was making her feel so giddy and girlish without even being there. Enola smiled knowingly at her but said nothing and simply rocked her baby as Hermione watched.

"Would you like to meet her?" asked Enola. She held out the bundle of blankets and beckoned Hermione forwards. She took the baby uncertainly. "Just cradle her head. There we go. Perfect. She likes you already."

"How can you tell?" asked Hermione, gently moving the baby and trying not to gush over how beautiful she was.

"She doesn't smile like that for everyone," said Enola.

"It could just be wind," Hermione speculated. "She's so _tiny_. So delicate. I'm afraid I'll break her."

"You're doing just fine," said Enola. "Besides, she's spelled to bounce if she hits the floor. She's always trying to climb out of her cot. She's Mummy's little adventurer, aren't you?"

Enola cooed over her baby. Hermione couldn't resist any longer and joined in. It was surreal for a moment, to be stood there making these babyish sounds. She was used to huffing and groaning and sighing in defeat. This was like waking up after the longest night.

"Why don't you take her to look outside?" Enola suggested. "She loves that. Nev installed cushions in the bay windows for us to sit on."

Hermione allowed Enola to guide her to the window, where they sat on red and white striped seating. Alison scrambled up and vainly tried to stand, but her stumpy little legs kept collapsing beneath her as she tried to balance against the glass. Hermione giggled every time.

"It's beautiful out there," Hermione commented, as she looked out over acres of gorgeous valley and plush gardens. "Can you even tell me where this place is? Or what it is?"

"I don't see how that would hurt," said Enola. "The locals call it Brecon Castle, but it's not a castle, really. I mean, there are the battlements over on the West Wing, and the round towers at the South Causeway will still fire spells at any intruders, but it's more of a palace. It's been rebuilt about a dozen times since Harry's ancestors founded it over a thousand years ago."

"Harry's ancestors built this place?" asked Hermione, astonished again.

"Yes, it was the seat of power when his ancient relatives ruled the kingdom in this area of Wales," said Enola. "But that's all I can tell you. We call it the Blue Palace these days, but it's only because of the lake and the waterfalls in the Valley. Blue for water, see."

"So...Harry _owns_ this," Hermione breathed. "This is his _home_?"

"And home for anyone brave enough to escape Voldemort," said Enola stoutly. "There are dozens of us living on this land. All protected by Ancient Welsh Celtic magic. Voldemort will never be able to penetrate the wards, or even find us. He doesn't value the old language of the Druids. He disregards it. Welsh magic is quite as old and quite as powerful as that of our Celtic cousins, the Irish and the Scots. Maybe more so, when you consider..."

"Consider what?"

"I'll leave that particular secret for Harry to give you," Enola smiled covertly. "It's his favourite one. Well, apart from the one about him being in love with you. But everyone knows that one. It's obvious."

Hermione nearly dropped the baby.

"Harry..._what...?_"

"Oh come on, love, why do you think Harry has moved heaven and earth to be good enough for you?" said Enola, swatting off Hermione's gasp of disbelieving protest. "He's practically redefined how to use magic just so you can be kept safe. He says it's for all of us, but nothing but _you_ being in mortal danger would have made him break his cover the other night. I've never seen him so frantic as he was when he heard about Malfoy coming for you. If that's not love I don't know what is. And I'm actually _in love,_ myself, so I should know, right?"

Hermione just stared open mouthed at Enola, who laughed and took her daughter from Hermione before she dropped her on her head.

* * *

Harry and Neville stared at the plinth. It was unremarkable, yet the most remarkable thing ever. It was quite the dichotomy. The other five members, who made up Harry's Circle, were also peering in consideration at the weather-beaten monolith.

Neville turned to Harry, his hood flapping in the light breeze. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Harry nodded. "I've put off claiming my birthright for too long. Now I've revealed myself to Riddle, I have to take this step. I left Malfoy with just enough to tell his Master."

"What _did_ you do to them? Or do I not want to know?"

"Of those that survived?" asked Harry dryly. He set his jaw. "I blinded five. But I just took off Malfoy's ears and nose so he could lead the others back. I wanted that cunt Riddle to know exactly what his men can expect if they threaten Hermione again."

"Only a fool would mess with your witch, My Lord," said one of the others.

"She is not _my_ witch," said Harry sternly. "And the next man who refers to her as a piece of property will be cut down where he stands. She is a friend, one I hope will forgive me for my trespasses against her. I have failed her in the most fundamental of ways. I don't intend to forget that. Tonight I start to make amends."

Harry stepped forwards. He drew his wand and flicked a spell at the plinth.

_**"Revelio"**_

The stone transformed immediately. Instead of a dull, granite rock there was now a lush, marble white headstone leading down a vast set of white steps to a door not visible from the surface. The headstone was inscribed with ancient text. Celtic Runes. Harry grinned widely. It was the second such grin he'd allowed himself in the space of a few days...he dared not think about the other one. Being sat at Hermione's beside, watching her sleep. It was a guilty indulgence. She'd berate him if she ever found out. But he couldn't resist just one look, even if it had lasted several hours.

Harry translated the Runes quickly. It was the language of his ancestors, his family's own version, like a secret dialect. He smiled as he reached the end. This _was_ the place. Excitement coursed through him the likes of which he'd almost forgotten.

"Well, are you going to translate it for us, or are we just going to freeze our bollocks off all night!" Neville cajoled. Several of the others laughed.

"Knights of St David, my friends," Harry announced sagely as he turned to them all. "This is the place I've been promising you. A tomb belonging to my most ancient of ancestors. I can now reveal to you the secret Neville and I have been covetously protecting for the past three years, since we invited you into this covenant. I cannot express my gratitude for your patience, and your trust in us. I hope you will understand, and forgive us, when you know the truth."

Harry cleared his throat and read the inscription.

_**"Here lies The Terrible Head Dragon, King of Gwynedd.**_

_**May he give his enemies no rest in Death, as he gave them none in life.**_

_**All Hail the King!"**_

The Knights didn't respond at once. Harry hadn't expect them to. It was Sir David Pincott who spoke first, voicing their collective question.

"Who, or what, is a _Terrible Head Dragon?"_

Harry grinned mischievously. "Neville - a translation, if you will."

Neville stepped forward and drew his wand. He began swiping out a series of glowing runes in the air.

"Terrible!" he cried, before speaking the runic translation, an act which made his voice deep and ethereal. _**"Uther!"**_

The rune hung in the air, glowing a vivid purple.

**"**Head!" said Neville. "_**Pen!"**_ The second rune joined the first. "Dragon! _**Dragon!"**_

All three runes joined together. David Pincott looked up, and read the words in a barely audible whisper, as understanding dawned on them all.

"_Uther Pendragon_...The Terrible Head Dragon...but that would mean..."

Harry smiled widely at them all, bathing in the awestruck look crossing every eye.

And then his Knights dropped to their knees in reverent salute.


	4. A Kingly Favour

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery, frank sex discussion, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with HP timeline and mythical history.

* * *

Harry holstered his wand and moved forwards to examine his handiwork. Roger Davies and Steven Maxwell were splayed against the wall of the reception area, quite unconscious. There was a lump sprouting on Maxwell's forehead, where it had connected with the ridges of the ornamental oak panelling of the wall.

Neville joined Harry and tutted. "Did you really need to be so forceful?"

Harry scoffed in return. "They have a very important job. They need to be prepared."

"But its hardly fair," said Neville. "You are so fast it borders on the absurd. What chance did they have?"

"At least they got the wards up this time," said Harry. He motioned to a door on their left, which was covered by a shimmering white, swirling mist. "Davies finally seems to be cottoning on to the procedure."

"It's conditioning," said Neville dryly. "He keeps getting slammed into brick walls whenever you show up. It's enough to make it stick. It's really just self-preservation at this point."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "We'd better wake them."

Neville drew his wand and cast the _Renervate _spells. Davies and Maxwell stirred below them with a series of groans. "Watch your head, Steve. Might need a balm for that."

Steven Maxwell gingerly touched his head. He looked up at Harry. Despite the injury, there wasn't even the barest trace of resentment in his eyes. "How did we do, sir?"

"Better," said Harry, offering a hand and pulling Maxwell to his feet. "The wards are up. She's safe. The response time is improving. Good work."

"Thank you, sir," said Maxwell. His eyes were unfocused and groggy.

Harry turned to Neville. "Nev, some healing for Mr Maxwell. Davies - lower the wards."

"Yes, sir," Davies obeyed. The protective shield over the door vanished with a flick of his wand. Harry nodded his thanks and stepped forwards, taking the brass doorknob in his hand. He looked over at Davies. "Is she alone?"

Davies nodded. "Finalising some minor affairs of State. Planning for a tour of Canada next month. Nothing that cant wait."

Harry nodded again and entered the room.

The elderly lady looked up from her desk, her face cracking into a wide smile as she clocked eyes on him. She was in her nineties now but you'd hardly know it. Harry had met her many times, but was always bowled over by her energy and vivacity. He hoped he was half as good if he ever reached such a ripe old age.

"Harry Potter! Well, of all the ways to brighten my day!"

Then there was that regal quality to her voice. Harry always felt humbled by it. Her presence was something else. He had to learn this magic from her, while he still had time.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head. "Apologies for the abrupt intrusion."

Queen Elizabeth simply laughed at him. "I would expect nothing else from you, Harry. I'm afraid Wills and Kate have just left. They'll be very sorry to have missed you. You find me quite alone this morning."

"You're never alone, your Highness," said Harry, taking her proffered hand and placing a chaste kiss against her fingers. "Shame about Will and Kate, though. I haven't seen Princess Charlotte for months. I hear she's quite the terror."

The Queen laughed. "She managed to vanish the glass guarding the Crown Jewels just last week. The Beefeaters nearly combusted from the shock. I had Mr Davies memory charm half the corps. I hope you didn't Stun him too badly on this visit."

"He bore it well," said Harry simply. He sat opposite the English monarch when she motioned him to do so. "They know the score. I turn up randomly and they try to protect you. It keeps them vigilant, on their toes. They're actually getting better."

"Yes, I felt the wards go up," Elizabeth agreed. "And that's not all I felt. I take it you found the tomb?"

Harry nodded, then leaned forward seriously. "Your Majesty, I want you to know that I have zero intention of taking your Regency from you. Britain is your country, I have no interest in changing the arrangement. Only of returning the country to your protection before its too late. That's why I am here."

Queen Elizabeth suddenly stood. She flicked a wrist and a shining sceptre materialised in her hand. She placed the orb at its tip to her head and cast silent magic. Harry felt an oath settle on him and rose to stop her. But she held out a hand to prevent him. Her magic was so powerful it actually forced him back into his seat.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen of England and the British Nation, and all her holdings overseas, hearby swear fealty to Harry Potter, Lord of Avalon, The Once and Future King. This is my Oath, my bond, may magic see it done."

Harry gasped as the enormity of the oath settled on him. It was physical as well as symbolic. He just stared at the Queen.

"Elizabeth..."

She returned his stare resolutely. "The Houses of Winsdor and of Saxe-Coburg will stand with the House of Potter, the heirs to the House of Avalon. We will govern in your stead, as Chief Protectors of your line and legacy, for as long as you wish us to do so. This was always the plan, Harry. It was always going to be the way. If neither you nor your descendants wish to take the Throne...well, we shall keep it warm for you...just in case. But it does not stop you being _who you are._"

Harry tried not to grin. "Fine. But I will not permit you to bow to me, Your Highness."

"One is still a Queen," said Elizabeth stoutly. "And in charge until you say otherwise. And a Queen does not bow."

"Good to know," said Harry wryly.

"But you will be wanting this."

Queen Elizabeth opened a large cabinet full of sparkling jewellery, pondered a while before picking out an elegant silver ring with a single red ruby encrusted in the top. A gold letter _P _was set into the stone with actual gold thread.

"What's this?"

"The family ring of the House of Potter," said Queen Elizabeth. "Your godfather passed it to me after your father's death. It will imbibe you with all the ancient magic of your family, and legitimise all your political power and claims in both the magic and Muggle worlds."

Harry slipped the ring on. He felt new, yet old, magic wash over him. It was potent. It made him slightly giddy. It would take weeks to adjust to this. He and Neville would need to revisit their ritual ideas. They weren't nearly encompassing enough for him to absorb this. It was a heady sensation.

"It can be a little overwhelming, can it not?" asked Elizabeth, gently. "I remember on my coronation...how I managed not to pass out is one of the great mysteries of my life. You should try putting on a crown, Harry. The weight of expectation is utterly ridiculous."

"You're doing a very good job at putting me off," said Harry, rubbing his temples. He had pulled his hood back as a mark of respect, but the red silk shawl he wore to cover his face was still firmly in place.

Elizabeth laughed. "Now then. If you are not here to steal one's crown, what can I do for you?"

Harry stiffened in his seat, steeling his resolve. "I've come to ask your permission...to start a civil war."

The Queen interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them. She fixed Harry with a firm stare. "I believe we already _are_ at war. Are you seeking my permission to join it?"

"No...to end it," said Harry sternly. He rose and paced around the table to look out of the Palace window. The skyline of London loomed imperious beyond an avenue of tall trees. Harry wistfully wondered if it would survive what was coming. "Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort, has thoroughly penetrated nearly every part of magical and Muggle Britain. He has the magical world in the throes of a death grip so emcompassing I'm not sure it will ever fully recover from it. The damage already done is so fundamentally great...and his influence is permeating the Muggle world more and more. The leaders of two of the three main political parties are now under his control. Should either win the next General Election...then I seriously fear for the future of this country and her people.

"And Riddle wont stop with Britain. Even as we speak, he has mobilised a special branch of his Death Eaters to smash the restriction wards surrounding our country. Understand, Elizabeth, the European Council of Magic didn't erect them to punish Britain - but to try and keep Europe safe from it. But they wont hold."

"What are you asking of me, Harry?"

"I have to wage a war," said Harry. "You're right...its already begun. But it will get worse before it gets better. A lot worse. I need your help to hold everything together. To stop it falling apart. There needs to be a Britain _left_ when all this is done, one worth fighting for."

"The House of Windsor stands with the Great House of Avalon," the Queen repeated. "We will stand strong and be counted. You have my full support, Harry. And my faith."

Harry turned to her. "Thank you, Your Highness."

He moved to leave but Elizabeth rose and placed a hand on his arm. "May I...may I see the _sword?"_

Her eyes were glinting with the excitement of adventure. Harry was convinced she couldn't really be in her nineties. It was a fallacy. Harry grinned beneath his shawl, threw back his robe and unbuckled the belt which was tied there. The large broadsword shone with a magic all its own as Harry pulled it from its leather sheath. The Queen's eyes went wide as she took the jewel-encrusted handle. She turned the blade in her hand, bathing in the magic flowing from it.

"How did it feel...to pull it out?" she asked quietly.

"I couldn't rightly describe it," said Harry, grinning. "Not to a Lady...and certainly not to my Queen!"

They both laughed. Harry re-sheathed the Sword of his greatest ancestor, then tied it firmly around his waist. With another bow and an exaggerated curtsey, he left the Queen to ponder a worrying future.

* * *

Hermione moved gingerly across her bedroom, her nightgown fluttering in the breeze from an open window. She placed her hands on the sill and looked out across the still night. It was clear. Stars shimmered and danced high above, dotted about the moon like a twinkling blanket. The moon was bright tonight. It threw the gardens into stark relief, dappling the high branches and cultivated lawns with silvery light.

It was really quite stunning.

Hermione marvelled at it, despite the discomfort she was in. She knew she had to put up with it. Magical injuries took a long time to heal. And she had a veritable back catalogue for her body to deal with. It had been five years since she'd suffered the Cruciatus Curse at Malfoy Manor, but those wounds had never truly been repaired. The deep, marrow-level ache was striking her now. Her hips were the worst part, creaking and groaning like she was an ancient old lady. She didn't feel too far off from that.

But then there were all the years of Ron's abuse, too. She should have guessed that he'd spelled her when she wasn't looking. Restrictive charms of all kinds had been placed on her without her knowledge. Enola diagnosed them quickly and removed them with some clever runic spell work. Hermione was enthralled by that. She'd never seen the like. Hogwarts taught only basic theory of Ancient Runes. Hermione was just now beginning to understand they carried a power of their own unlike anything she might have expected.

Enola knew a ton about this subject. Her mother was one of Harry's mentors in runic casting. She was so enthused when she talked about him that Hermione felt proud on his behalf. She was determined to get into this herself, when she felt stronger. It seemed that Harry had thoroughly immersed himself in the art and Hermione wanted something to connect with him on. If this was important to him, she would make it important to her.

Besides, that ritual room was completely fascinating.

She'd explored it briefly a few days ago. Had a proper look, with light and everything. The place was crammed full of carvings and runes and symbols and the place vibrated with magical energy. It was slightly stupefying. Enola had explained that the house was placed on the convergence of several ley lines, and was set out in a precise, deliberate way to harness them and create a powerful vortex of wild magical energy. One that Harry, somehow, had learned to tap into and channel.

Hermione couldn't rightly envisage that. Or quite wrap her head around its permutations. It had allowed Harry to shield the palace and its grounds from any malicious intent, magical or otherwise, using the ancient runic dialect of his ancestors. It made the place utterly impervious to Voldemort. They could all be safe there practically forever.

But Harry wasn't the sort to simply hide behind a magical shield. He created it for others to do just that, while he went off and devised a way to rid the world of Voldemort for good. How this might be achieved was fiercely guarded information. Only Harry and Neville knew the plan. Even Enola hadn't been told. It was the only secret Harry insisted Neville keep from his alluring wife.

Hermione winced as a jolt of pain throbbed in her legs. Ron's abuses had been much deeper than just curses on her. His physical abuse had taken its toll, too. Even this had been tinged with magic. They'd left a nasty imprint on her.

Just then there was a little pop and Sally was next to her, snapping her fingers to hold her upright as her knees buckled.

"Lady Hermione!" she admonished. "Why yous be out of bed without Sally! Yous not be well enough!"

Hermione still hadn't quite got her head around being called _Lady_, but all the house-elves she'd met at the Palace insisted on it. Unless they were calling her _Master Harry's favouritest witch_. That was their other personal name for her. That was guaranteed to make her blush furiously, so the older elves tended to refrain from it, fearful they were making her ill. The younger ones were more playful and did it just to set them all to wild giggles.

For it had turned out that Alice Longbottom had been quite correct. Harry's apparent deep regard for Hermione was a well-known secret. Everyone knew, or was quite convinced of the fact, it seemed. Hermione didn't know what to say to that, and had no answers when asked. She and Harry had always been extraordinarily close, but he'd stopped short of displaying anything more than friendship for her. But, according to Enola, this was merely an act.

And, apparently, the deepest regret of his life.

They'd talked extensively about this. Hermione was shocked and struggled to believe even half of it. If she dared believe the other half she was convinced her heart might explode from all its uncontrolled pounding. She'd always loved Harry, far more than a mere friend should and not in anything like the same way. She'd always known that. She'd filed it away as a rueful case of what might have been. It just hadn't happened for them, never looked like it would. For a multitude of reasons, it seemed they'd entered into an unspoken conspiracy never to look the possibility in the face.

But Harry had reneged. He'd never said, but he'd thought about it a lot, according to Enola. In quiet times, in private, in a solitary world that he wouldn't even have recorded in a journal. They were his own words to Neville's wife, on the one time they openly discussed it, on Hermione's twenty-first birthday. When Harry held his own party and got drunk enough for the both of them.

"He outright confessed to being in love with you," Enola had said. "It was the most beautiful conversation I've ever had with him. He actually made me cry, he was so gushing about you. You have to know that Harry doesn't open up like that very much. If ever. It was incredible to see. I actually felt blessed that he talked like that with me. It wasn't long after me and Neville got engaged. We asked Harry to perform the ceremony and he was feeling all emotional. He's a bit of a romantic at heart. And his heart literally belongs to you. He left me in _no doubt_ about that."

"But why didn't he ever say anything?" Hermione replied, blushing madly.

"Why didn't you ever tell him that _you_ were in love with _him_?" Enola countered, evenly.

"I...what...how can you say..." Hermione was beyond flustered.

"Oh come on, love," said Enola, waving her hand dismissively. "You _actually_ light up when you talk about him. Its unbearably sweet. Especially when you've gone through so much shit with that prick you have to call a husband. That you can still _remember_ what its like to love is quite literally breathtaking."

Hermione didn't know quite what to say to that. But she couldn't deny a word of it. And after the life she'd endured for the past few years, she was too exhausted to even bother. It excited wondrous flutterings all through her body. It was a body that hurt, that was suffering after years of abuse, but it was starting to heal at the very least.

Just not as quickly as she, or her cross little elf, would have liked.

"Whys you up, Miss Hermione?" asked Sally.

"I felt something _move_," Hermione explained. "Like the air of the house shifted. Does that make sense?"

"Oh _that_," said Sally simply, waving her hand. "That be the shield ward moving. Always be happening when someone comes in or out. Be one day when you learn to recognise who it be. Feel different for everyone. Elves always know."

"Then who's coming in?"

"Oh, that be Master Harry," said Sally without fuss. "Master Neville be coming in half a minute ago. I said they always be coming back. "

Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest. "Harry's home? Can I go and see him? Will you take me to him, please?"

"Yes and no and no," said Sally sternly. "Master Harry see you when he good and ready, Lady Hermione."

Hermione crossed her arms and frowned. "And if I try and leave when you're not looking?"

Sally looked at her, shrewd and swarthy. "Sally be _always_ watching, my Lady. And Rhian be watching Sally. And Master Harry be watching us all. If Master Harry want Lady Hermione to rest, then Lady Hermione be resting."

"And its useless for me to argue, I suppose?" Hermione huffed.

"Lady Hermione be getting the picture."

Hermione turned back to the window. There was a flash of fire and Lily, Harry's phoenix, exploded into flight just outside. She soared around a while before flying right up and perching on the open window ledge. Hermione stretched out a cautious hand. Lily turned in and rubbed her crown against Hermione's fingers with a contented trill.

"See, Lady Hermione," said Sally, folding Hermione's day clothes nearby. "Master Harry _always_ be watching his favouritest witch."

Hermione blushed as Lily sang out in obvious agreement. The phoenix took one piercing look at her, then took off again, clearly satisfied with her spying mission. Hermione tried to track her flight path, to see which one of the many rooms Harry might be in, just in case she devised a way to escape the attention of the elves. But just then, Lily disappeared in a flash of flame.

Hermione huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Well...that's just _cheating_, Harry," she said crossly.

Then Hermione was hit with a realisation.

"Sally - how long did you say Harry had been home?"

"Master Harry been here five minutes, no more, my Lady Hermione," said Sally, now colour organising Hermione's sock drawer. "Whys you ask?"

"Well it just...seems a little quick, for him to send Lily to check on me," said Hermione thoughtfully.

Sally scoffed. "Master Harry ask firebird Lily and Sally to check on Lady Hermione before he even enter the house. He very worried about his most favourite witch."

Hermione felt her heart skip at that. Her stomach joined in with little somersaults.

"Why do you all say that?" asked Hermione, limping to her bed and settling down. "What makes you think I'm his...fa-favourite witch?"

It seemed preposterous to even say aloud.

"Master Harry be liking Lady Hermione very much," said Sally, tucking the covers over her before hopping onto the foot of the bed. "He be talking about her all the time. Elves hear everything, know more. Master Harry not talk about any witch like he talk about Lady Hermione. He light up like a glow-worm when he says yous name. Then there be his picture."

"Picture?"

"On Master Harry's nightstand," said Sally. "Only one picture of a witch in Master Harry's room. Only one witch in Master Harry's heart, too."

"And its...its of _me?"_ Hermione could barely form the notion.

Sally nodded. "Sally not be surprised. Lady Hermione be very pretty. But all ladies need beauty sleep. Time for yous now."

Hermione snuggled down in the covers, wild thoughts chasing each other through her mind. Her entire being was flooded with such emotion for Harry she could barely lay still. She'd never be able to sleep. Or she wouldn't have, if a certain little elf hadn't snapped her fingers and made it happen.

* * *

Harry paced patiently up and down. He'd waited long enough for bad things, this was a pleasant change of pace. Even so, he was impatient. This had become a guilty pleasure for him. He should feel terrible about it, but he didn't have it in him. He'd gone through a lot, surely the universe wouldn't begrudge him this.

Perhaps Hermione might, but she didn't need to find out.

Sally popped next to him and he was startled and yelped in surprise. Sally bowed apologetically. Harry patted her head to stop her shaking.

"It's alright, Sally, calm yourself. Its my fault. I was miles away. I knew you were coming. I was just in my own world. Is she sleeping?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Properly? Or is she pretending?"

"Fully sleeping," said Sally proudly. "I bes pulling her eyelids open and everything to check."

Harry chuckled at that. "You're a good elf. I wont be long tonight. I'm tired myself. I just want to say goodnight."

"Sally be waiting when yous be done, Master Harry."

Harry nodded then gently slipped into Hermione's bedroom.

His eyes took a while to adjust to the dark, but he soon found her sleeping form. He crossed the room silently and slid into a chair next to her bed. She was turned to him, her wild curls splayed out over the pillow. She looked calm, free of woes. And unspeakably beautiful for it. Harry's heart thrummed as he watched her body rise and fall with her steady breathing. But it hid the truth in plain sight.

Harry drew his wand and began casting silent diagnostic spells all over Hermione's slumbering body. His heart ached with each revealing spell. It was a foul history of broken bones, of dislocations, of muscle-deep bruises that were still sore and tender. She was in daily discomfort. There was a dark throb at her hips where an old wound was coming to the surface. He would have been amazed if she could even walk. He turned to casting healing runes, tracing them just above the covers before pushing them into her waist. It wouldn't be a long-term fix, but it would ease her suffering for now.

Then he holstered his wand and looked down at her. He had a wild notion. It was dark, she wouldn't see...

He slowly slipped off his shawl and tossed it onto the end table nearby. Then he returned his gaze to her. Even though he only had one eye left, uncovering the empty socket made him _feel _like he could see better. It was all in his mind, he was sensible of that, but he did it nonetheless. He wanted to look at Hermione with unfettered vision, as though somehow he could drink more of her in.

Just being sat with her relaxed him. Here he could watch her, guard her, protect her from anything. He would destroy the night itself if it presented itself as a threat to her. He didn't want to start that train of thought, of those he would hurt for her. This was a quiet time. To enjoy watching her breathe, to live in her presence, to be thankful for every beat of her heart. He'd been so close to losing her. He couldn't bear to think of that. His guilt made the windows rattle in their frames. He was getting too worked up. He had to leave his vigil for tonight before his magic erupted and broke something. He got up and tiptoed carefully from the room.

Harry closed the heavy doors as carefully as he could, merely out of habit. He knew Sally's magic would keep Hermione asleep through a thunderstorm. But that silly part of his brain still refused to take any chances. She was so hurt. She needed so much rest. He could have cried out at it, as though the agony was his own. He pressed his head against the cool oak of the door and let his anguish spill over.

He didn't often permit his emotional shields to come down, but he was powerless to prevent it in the face of Hermione's suffering. He loved her so much. How could he have let this happen to her? He took a breath to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to wake the whole castle. Or destroy it with his fury at his own failings. He stood, determined to master his sorrow, then brushed hastily at his wet cheeks. It was amazing, really, that despite the damage to his eye socket, both his tear ducts still worked.

Harry heard movement and reached for his wand on instinct. Then he just sighed.

"Still persisting with this creepy, stalker thing then?"

Harry frowned. "Be quiet, Ennie. It's my house. I'll stalk who I like."

"Oh, I think you're on safe ground," said Enola, emerging into the light. "Most of the witches in this palace would be perfectly agreeable to you sneaking into their rooms in the middle of the night. Half the wizards too, probably."

Harry blushed. That was to say, his scar tissue flared up in angry purple blotches. It was as close as he could come to a flush these days.

"You seriously need to get laid, En," said Harry.

"Well if you didn't keep stealing my husband for days on end maybe I'd get a chance," Enola replied crossly. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me where you've been this time."

Harry simply shook his head. Then he turned to consider Neville's wife again.

"You're up late," Harry said suspiciously.

"When you have a baby of your own you'll understand," said Enola dryly. "Neville's exhausted. He went out like a light. So I'm on Ally-Duty for the night."

Harry frowned again. "There are over thirty house-elves here. I'm sure you can trust one of them to look after her for a while."

"I want to raise my own child," said Enola, simply. "The elves are always welcome to help, but some things only a mum should do for her baby."

Harry turned to go. As he did, Enola caught sight of his face in the light and hissed at him. Only then did he realise he'd left his shawl on Hermione's bedside table.

"Your scar is weeping," she said gently, stepping close. "Quite badly, actually. Let me..."

"Leave it," Harry replied lowly.

"Harry -"

"I said leave it," he cut across forcefully.

Enola glared at him. "You don't frighten me, Harry. It needs attention. I wont touch, I promise, but it needs to be cleaned up."

Harry submitted with a small nod and a slightly bigger huff. Enola smiled sadly at him before leading them to one of the other suites nearby. She motioned for him to sit at a vanity table before taking out her whitewood wand. She began casting very slow and delicate cleaning charms and antiseptic spells and healing runes. Harry winced and flinched but tried not to show it. Even the light touch of Enola's familiar magic caused him unspeakable agony where it touched his wound.

"I don't know that this will ever heal," she said in a soft but bitter tone. "That utter bastard..."

She trailed off. Harry let her work. She was always so careful with him. He could never tell her, but he welcomed her help. She was the only one he'd let do this. He didn't trust anyone else to be so aware and precise.

Then she started talking. "I really like her, you know. She's so bright and lovely, despite everything. I can see why you are so taken with her. She's lovely. I approve."

Harry held in a laugh. Enola's wand work required utter stillness. Harry simply considered his reflection, his smashed face. The wide, jagged, angry gash splitting his face in two, robbing him of his right eye, his nose, setting his mouth into a permanent sneer. A face not even a mother could love. Who was he kidding? Hermione would be just as horrified of him as the rest.

And he really couldn't blame her.

Enola carefully cleaned up the rest of his scar. The pinkish pus which had been oozing from the ridges was all but gone. She wanted to reach out, to soothe him. Harry could tell that. He backed away reflexively.

"Thanks, that'll do," he said quietly.

"Where's your scarf?" asked Enola. "I could renew the antiseptic charms on it for you."

"I left it on Hermione's table," said Harry. "Don't know what I was thinking...taking it off..."

His voice trailed away.

"You just wanted to see her properly, " said Enola, gently. "I understand that. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"No, leave her rest. She needs it. I have more in my room. Thanks, Ennie. I'm going to turn in."

"You should see her, Harry," said Enola quickly. "Let her see you. She's going spare not being able to. The worry wont help her recovery."

"Seeing me might make it worse," Harry replied sadly. "I just cant. Look at me. I'm a mess."

"A _hot_ mess, Harry," said Enola, lightly. "And if you think _she_ will care about that, you're doing her a disservice. I've only just started to get to know her and the one thing I can tell you is that she isn't superficial. And its obvious how important you are to her. Give her more credit, give her a chance."

Harry sighed. Even as his angry reflection looked back, his heart dared to hope. "Does she really want to see me that much?"

Enola smiled at him. "More than that. The only reason she hasn't found you is that you don't stay still long enough to pin down. See her, Harry. For you own good _and_ hers."

Harry sighed again, then slowly nodded. "Well, she'll have to give me my shawl back. I'll be tending the gardens tomorrow. I haven't been to my secret copse in a while..."

"I'll make sure she finds the way," Enola replied, smiling broadly. She really was ridiculously pretty. "Goodnight, Harry."

* * *

Hermione was shivering, despite the sunny weather beating down on her. She'd picked out another pretty sundress at Sally's prompting. She felt rather alien in it. She hadn't worn anything like this in years. It was a bit revealing, lower cut than she was used to. But this was liberating in itself. It was feminine, she felt womanly in the dress.

And she hadn't felt that in a while.

But still she was shaking. There was no breeze. The air was totally still. It would be quite stifling later when the sun was fully up. She would be thankful for the thin cotton of the dress then. She felt the soft hem dance and tickle playfully at her thighs. She had too much leg on show. The little white flats Sally had slipped onto her feet her were dainty, but allowed for far too much skin. And the remnants of the bruises were still there.

What would Harry think when he saw her?

Hussy? Whore? Sympathy wench? She hadn't seen him in years and his personality was altered. Everyone said so. She felt her stomach tighten as she walked slowly along the gravel path. She was too much on display. He might think she was throwing herself at him on this first, most auspicious of meetings. She wasn't entirely opposed to that idea. But Neville's warning about Harry not liking to be touched rang loudly in her ears. She had to be mindful of that.

Sally led Hermione out of the tree-lined avenue of the North Causeway and into a well-manicured garden of techicolour. Flowers and bushes were artfully arranged along a path of precisely-trimmed lawn and a little stream flowed here and there all through it, darting beneath tiny arches and bridges. It was a really lovely little walk. Hermione was bitter that she couldn't do it without being hand-held by her personal elf.

Then they came to a gentle stop. Off to one side of the garden was a pretty sort of wilderness. It was a contained space, with climbing vines and a canopy of dense leaves over one side. Hermione could hear more water splashing inside. Sally let go of her hand and nodded her head for Hermione to enter.

She took a deep breath, curled her fingers into the red silk shawl in her hands, then cautiously walked forwards.

It was really quite pretty inside. It was wider than it looked. There was a little stone path lined with pebbles that led around the space, which was half in shadow from the leafy canopy overhead. Small flowerbeds were blooming in each corner and there was a cute little, circular granite fountain at the dead centre. A stone hippogriff rose from the middle of it and water was spouting from its open beak. There were four stone benches curling around the fountain. A lone figure sat on the farthest one, almost completely obscured by the shade.

Hermione's breath caught in her lungs at the sight of him. He was wearing a long robe with a deep hood that totally covered his head. But she knew unquestionably that it was Harry, as though his very presence had its own vibration. She blinked back tears. She didn't want to cry like a weak little girl. But just the sight of him sitting there was enough to shatter her world.

It took every ounce of restraint she had not to run and embrace him on the spot.

She was mindful of not spooking him by being so overt. Equally, she knew she had to master herself now to not show pity when she finally saw his face, his scar. Neville was quite firm on how much he hated that. Even Enola had emphasised this point. But Hermione owed her a debt. She'd been the one to finally convince Harry to see her. She felt a spike of jealously over that, over Enola's ability to influence Harry. That had, for the longest time, been _her_ domain. She was determined to wrestle that back from her new friend.

Hermione approached slowly. She noticed silly things, like the slump of Harry's shoulders, the curve of his back, the stillness of the trees overhead. Time seemed to be holding its breath for them, not daring to intrude. As though even the universe itself wasn't sure how this was going to go.

It hardly gave Hermione courage.

She clutched again at the shawl in her hand. She brought it to her face and breathed deeply. It smelled of Harry, so familiar yet markedly different. It was comforting. She marvelled at it. All morning, she hadn't been able to shake the image of Harry sat at her bedside, sat so close by. Worrying for her, caring for her, trying to make her better. All the while suffering so himself. Suffering with irrational fear that she hated him, that she would reject him. She longed to tell him that nothing could be further from the truth.

But where to start? What could she say? Five years and so much had gone on. How did she go about breaking the ice?

She took a breath and sat on a bench opposite him, giving him space. Then she offered the shawl. He inclined his head at the movement.

"You left this," she said gently. It wasn't much, but it had begun. She couldn't have said how, but she was sure he was smiling under his hood.

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking it from her. "This is my favourite one. I've missed it."

His meaning was undoubtedly clear. It brought the tears Hermione had been trying so hard to keep in. The very sound of his voice had broken the dam. It was him. It was her Harry. She had to charm herself from throwing her arms around him.

"Oh, _Harry..."_

He breathed heavily opposite her. His shoulders were shaking. He was crying, too. She knew. Just being this close to her was too much for him. She couldn't quite get her head around that. It was sweet and lovely and so strange. But so frustrating. She wanted to reach out, to touch him. But she had to wait. She knew that. But nothing had ever been so hard.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry croaked slowly. He sounded beyond broken. "So, so sorry..."

Hermione steadied herself, held her own heaving sobs. Her voice stuttered as she spoke. "I...I don't blame you, Harry. For any of it. I r-really don't. I need you to believe that."

His body was wracked again. Hermione had to grip the bench to stop herself moving. It turned her knuckles white with the effort. She saw Harry's hands come up and disappear under his hood, cupping his face. He was brushing away his tears. Hermione could take no more.

"Let me see."

Harry didn't move.

"Harry...please. I need to see your face."

He laughed hollowly. "You _really_ don't."

"You're wrong," she said softly. "It's the _only_ thing I need. I don't resent you for anything that has happened, for the things you think you have or haven't done. I really, truly don't. But I will get very cross if you don't show me your face. You don't like me being cross, Harry."

He chuckled at that. It was practically musical to Hermione's ears. "No, you're right, I really don't."

"Then let me see you," Hermione pleaded. "Please, Harry, I have to see your face."

Harry sighed and huffed. In a moment that felt like a watershed, he surrendered. With a resigned, stiff movement, he sat upright. Slowly, reluctantly, he hooked his fingers into his hood and drew it back.

Hermione got her first look at Harry in five years. Two-thirds of his face was covered in a blue scarf that went down around his skull and crossed above his nose. She caught sight of his one remaining eye. It had lost its vibrancy. It was cold, callous even. That's what struck her first. It was a dull green, a pale viridian. Not the sparkling emerald she was so used to.

And it hurt to see it. Far more than she had prepared herself for. Despite all her determination, this had stunned her. She had tried to condition herself for a horrendous scar, but to see the loss of life in Harry's eye struck her like a bullet. Harry noticed. He bowed his head with resigned acceptance. He had expected this, but to see it happen cut to him more completely than anything else could. He held his hand to his wrappings and hesitated.

Hermione chastised herself. She took a few more breaths. "Harry..."

He sighed in response. It was almost a whimper. Hermione felt her heart break at the sound. She had thought _she _was wounded. But she knew instantly that Harry's suffering was the equal of her own, worse even. It made her almost frantic to do what she could to soothe him. To soothe them both.

Harry went back to his unveiling. He unwrapped his scarf as though it were a turban. Hermione's eyes widened as the true extent of the injury was revealed. She resolved to hold in her horror, her hatred for the man responsible. She bit on her tongue to restrain her gasp. Bit so hard that she drew blood, tasting its coppery flavour in her mouth.

Harry dropped his hands to his lap, his eye fixed firmly on the floor. He looked like he wanted to hug into himself and just disappear. He couldn't look anywhere but at his feet. Hermione's heart sank into her own at the sight. She forced herself to look at Harry's scar, no matter how appalling it was. It was hideous. There was no other way to describe it. It was rough, angry, sore. Truly disgusting. And it had a slight stench of rank rotting and stale cream. It looked fresh, too. As though it might have happened just that morning. It was hard to look at.

_For fucks sake, Hermione, grow up!_ She admonished herself. This was _Harry_, wounded but still Harry. Still beautiful to her. She stared hard at his wrecked face, determined and resolute. He was alive. Viciously injured, but alive. Still alive enough to be beautifully ugly.

And Hermione could think of nothing more wondrous in that moment.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked gently. She was morbidly fascinated by how it would feel to touch.

Harry looked up, a little surprised. "It stings...all the time," he admitted. "But I'm sort of used to it now."

That thought sliced to Hermione's heart. The very idea of Harry in pain might as well have been a disease all of its own. It made her sensible to his plight. She looked at him closely. Not in pity - she knew he wouldn't like that - but in deep concern. The more she looked, the less she saw the deep groove cutting his face in half.

"It gives you character," she said, trying to keep things light.

"It makes me a monster," Harry corrected.

"Hey - you are _not_ a monster! Don't talk like that."

"Hermione, come on...look at me."

"I am," she said quietly. "I really am. And I genuinely can't believe I'm able to say that."

They held each others gaze for the first time in half a decade. And in that moment, something they'd both been missing flooded back to them. They both felt it. It stirred emotions in both that had been buried for far too long. Hermione couldn't resist grinning at the sensation.

"So, are you going to tell me where you've been for five years, or do I have to curse a confession from you?"

Harry started to laugh, then checked himself. He didn't laugh, didn't let himself. Hermione remembered Neville telling her so.

"You're approaching this awfully calmly," said Harry. "I'm supposed to spend at least a month apologising to you before we start being civil."

Hermione huffed. "You aren't going to accept that I don't hold you any ill will, are you?" Harry shook his head. "Fine. I'll permit you one, clear-your-conscience apology. Just know that it is _utterly_ unnecessary."

"How can you say that?" Harry cried. "I left you in the hands of a monster of a man, who has abused and tortured you since he was allowed to get away with it! I can only imagine what sort of horrors you've had to endure under Ron's hands."

"None of which are _your_ fault!" Hermione cried back, his passionate equal. "Whatever happened to take you away wasn't your fault, either. And I know you would have come for me if you'd known what was happening. You _did_."

"But I was a little late, don't you think?"

Hermione stared at him, astonished. "You coming back _from the dead_ was never too late for me!"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but he was stumped. "I'm just really sorry..."

"I _know_ you are," said Hermione softly. She shifted onto the bench next to him, as close as she dared. "I've been told night and day by house-elves and witches alike just how sorry you are. And all I've wanted was to see you and tell you that you don't need to be. You came for me, Harry...you _saved _me."

Harry swallowed. Hermione could almost see the lump in his throat. "I saved you."

"You did," she smiled. "And I can't tell you how grateful I am. But _you_ can tell me where you've been all this time. I've bloody missed you, you know."

Harry couldn't prevent a laugh this time. He glowered good-naturedly at Hermione. "Stop that."

She inclined her head. She wanted a story. She wasn't going to be deflected from that course.

"Where shall I start?" Harry asked.

"How about the last time we saw each other?" said Hermione. "It breaks my heart to say the words, but we can fix that now. So start there."

Harry scoffed. "That's going to make this a _very_ long story."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "We appear to have plenty of time. Besides, you have five years of not talking to me to make up for."

"Fine, but no interruptions. I don't approve of my own laughter."

"No promises, Harry."

He frowned at her. "I left you in the Great Hall, didn't I? On the night of the Battle?"

Hermione nodded. She was being compliant so far.

"Snape's memories," Harry began. His words weighed heavily on him. They hung in the air. "I went to Dumbledore's Pensieve. I viewed them. I saw lots of things. I foolishly believed every single one of them. Long and short of it? Dumbledore thought I was a Horcrux. He sent me to die in the forest."

Hermione clasped her hand to her mouth. "He _what! _How could he have thought you were a Horcrux?_"_

"He thought Tom Riddle had created me as one the night he killed my parents."

Hermione felt a surge of anger. "He thought Voldemort turned you into a Horcrux?"

Harry flinched angrily. "Please don't use that foul affectation around me again. His name is Tom Riddle. He's just a man, Hermione. Evil as fuck, but just regular flesh and blood. Please don't say that foolish title again."

"Sorry," said Hermione, biting her lip. "But Dumbledore thought he'd meant to use you as a Horcrux?"

"Or to make one. The old coot wasn't really clear. Its pretty fucking standard for him, to be honest. The problem is, he should have known better. Horcrux creation is a dark, but highly difficult piece of magic to perform. But do you know the one thing, the unmistakably most crucial element needed to perform the rite? A _fucking_ body, Hermione! You need to be able to hold a wand and say words! Old Tom was utterly destroyed in his body. There is literally _no way_ he could have created a Horcrux or separated his soul without it. Fucking Dumbledore seemed to ignore this most basic fact."

Harry was breathing heavily, angrily. Hermione waited with baited patience. Harry needed to vent. She was happy to let him.

"But I was so dumb. You know me, blindly follow whatever Dumbledore said. Like he was some infallible god. Merlin, I was retarded. So Dumbledore thought I was a Horcrux and that Tom would somehow _kill_ the Horcrux-bit in me without fully killing my body. Don't ask how...he didn't really explain that part.

"But I just believed Snape's memories. I should have known that was part of Dumbledore's master plan. He spelled his Pensieve to corrupt Snape's memories when they interacted, as though he expected that I'd get to see them in some fashion. Dunno if he knew Snape would have to be killed for it. Not that he would have cared. He was a sly old fucker.

"So, the way it was put to me, I _had_ to die to give everyone a chance. He didn't tell me that I'd die and come back or anything. Just that I would die. End of. And I just believed it without question."

"Why didn't you come and speak to _me!_" Hermione cried hotly. She was almost yelling in her anger. "I could have told you how wrong Dumbledore was. I practically memorised that book on Horcrux creation."

"I know...I know," said Harry, tiredly. "I placed my faith in Dumbledore above you. It was a massive, massive mistake. It led to everything that's happened since. Forgive me, Hermione. I was so, so wrong."

"Oi...I allowed you _one_ apology. You're skirting your limits with two."

"I can't promise not to beg again," said Harry. "I've just got so much to regret with you."

Hermione felt a weird knot coil in her stomach and her heart leapt into her mouth. She shivered pleasantly under Harry's gaze. So fierce and protective, even with just one eye. It was startling.

"So what happened in the forest?"

Harry scoffed. "I opened the Snitch, remember the one I was left in Dumbledore's will? Well, turns out he'd hidden the Resurrection Stone in it. I'd have plumped for a high security Gringotts vault, myself, but there we are."

"You didn't..._use it_, did you?"

"Of course I did," said Harry bluntly. "I'd pissed myself on the way down to the forest. I was so afraid."

"Oh, _Harry!_ Don't you ever learn? That's why you should never go anywhere without me! You can't be trusted not to be so stupid!"

"I'll hold you to that," Harry said, with a crooked smirk. "Anyway, it didn't work as it was meant to because I didn't have all the Hallows on me at the time. Oh, and the fact that Dumbledore had cast a nasty little jinx on it to produce facsimiles of the dead that would further his plan."

"Who came out?"

"My mum and dad, Sirius and Lupin," said Harry simply. "Formed a creepy little suicide squad that accompanied me to my death. I was mindless at that point, Hermione. I think I'd had a little break from reality in truth."

"Oh my fucking dear lord!" Hermione whispered aghast.

"So, in we pop to the forest," Harry went on conversationally. "My mother and father, my godfather and my favourite teacher, all waving cheerfully as I stood in the middle of a circle of fifty Death Eaters and Riddle himself. I didn't even question it. My mum was practically _encouraging _me to stand in front of Riddle's wand. What the fuck was up with that? The shame of my idiocy is almost as strong as my guilt over you. Almost."

"Then?" Hermione prodded.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry hissed darkly. "Boom! I woke up and thought I was in some proto-afterlife. A misty version of Kings Cross. _Bumbledore_ was there. Tried to explain this fucked up plan of his. I don't know it if was real, or a dream. All I know it that it was wrong. _He was wrong_. Fundamentally.

"Meanwhile, back in the forest, Tom's getting to his feet and sending Narcissa Malfoy to make sure I'm dead. I'm not. But I'm in such a deep coma I might as well have been. What Riddle _doesn't_ know is that Narcissa is a double agent. She's on _my_ side. She's an Acolyte of St David. Part of a group that's been trying to look after me all my life. She lied to Riddle, he thought he'd won, killed me. Then Narcissa conspired a way to get my body away from Hogwarts. I woke up properly in a cold catacomb. Underneath this house.

"It was five months later."

Hermione gasped again, her eyes wide and startled.

"I went absolutely mental, as you might guess," Harry went on. "For two weeks I was apparently wild. I had to be magically sedated in the end. Then my mind sort of caught up with my body and I settled down. I wanted to go straight out and back into the fight, to rescue everyone.

"But things had already changed by then. The final Phoenix members were dead. The heads of McGonagall and Shacklebolt were mounted, I heard. Riddle brought into the open all the secret changes his insiders had been making. The Wizengamot was disbanded, the Ancient houses subjugated or slaughtered. It was chaos. But I don't need to tell _you_ any of that."

"No, it was pretty horrific," Hermione agreed. "And it just got worse once they started herding squibs and non-Purebloods into the camps. But where were you? Who were you with?"

"Narcissa sent me here, to the ancient seat of my family," Harry explained. "Celtic magic protected it, you know, as soon as I arrived and essentially took ownership. It activated all sorts of ancient protections. It's also the headquarters of an equally ancient group of knights, warrior-wizards sworn to protect my family line. The Knights of St David, they are called. I spent the first three months of my _resurrection_ learning all about them. My mother and father knew all about it. They were members, or under their protection."

"But why?"

"This is quite a big secret, Hermione...can I trust you?"

She huffed at him. "Of course you can."

Harry took a steadying gulp of air. "Generations ago, my family ruled a huge kingdom in this part of Wales," he began. "Their most famous king was a man named Owain Than-gwyn. You might know him by a slightly different name. Most of history certainly does."

"Which is?"

Harry scoffed at her. "This will be so much more dramatic if you let me tell it my way."

Hermione grinned at him and motioned him to continue.

"Anyway," Harry continued. "Owain was a giant of a man for his time. Easily six-foot-five at a time when most tall men barely reached five foot. He was a freak, an abhorration of nature. And he was an utter animal in battle. Vicious and practically unbeatable. It earned him the nickname of _The Bear._ Do you know what the old Welsh is for _bear_, Hermione?"

"I don't know what the current Welsh word for _bear_ is, Harry."

"Well, its _arth_," Harry explained. "And the definitive article in Welsh is _ur."_

"So his nickname was _Ur Arth?_" askedHermione. "The Bear?"

"Sort of. But Welsh syntax is _the reverse_ of English."

"So...its _Arth..Ur..?_" Hermione's jaw dropped open. "_Arthur_...not _the_ Arthur?"

Harry just grinned at her.

"Merlin's beard!"

"Which brings us neatly to _him,"_ said Harry. "History became legend over the centuries, Hermione. Different writers embellished the story and the truth got buried somewhere. The reality is that Merlin was part of a triad relationship with Uther Pendragon and his wife, Igraine. Uther saw the advantage of having an offspring with powerful magical skill, so Merlin sired Arthur with Igraine. He's his true father. When Merlin was betrayed and murdered by one of his apprentices, Uther adopted Arthur as his own and the legend was born.

"A ritual circle - known as The Round Table - was built and Knights from all over the realm were sworn into a brotherhood, to protect the line of Kings. There are branches everywhere, but the original one was founded right here, at Arthur's birthplace. The Knights have guarded the bloodline for generations, and there are some pretty famous names on that list. Notably, Godric Gryffindor and, more lately, James Potter. And now..._me."_

Hermione couldn't move. She just let her mouth flap open and made little squeaking noises as Harry told his story.

"When my father was killed, the Knights tried to find me," Harry went on. "My mother and father were getting heavily into ritual magic by that point. The Knights put them on that path well before my birth, and it intensified after they learned about the prophecy. My mother was inducted as an Acolyte, herself, after Hogwarts. They created a charm that would alert the Knights to my father's death. Unfortunately, Sirius got to me first and followed Dumbledore's orders to give me to Hagrid, who delivered me to Privet Drive. Thus began Dumbledore's ill-judged tyranny over me."

"Dumbledore loved you, Harry. I'm sure he did."

"Maybe he did." Harry took a heavy, patient breath. "Dumbledore was a hundred-and-fifty years old and was was borderline senile. He made mistake after mistake with me since I was thrust into orphanhood. His catalogue of errors _made_ my life the hell it was. There was a support network for me right here. Dumbledore disregarded it, did his own thing. Broke a dozen laws in the process. But that's for another day.

"His biggest mistake was regarding the prophecy. Of not understanding what they are, or how they truly work."

Hermione edged forwards, impatient for the explanation.

"Dumbledore, like you, never paid much mind to divination or prophetic magic. You cast it off as 'woolly' and unreliable."

"It _is_ woolly and unreliable," said Hermione, crossly.

Harry smiled at her. A sad, lopsided smile that didn't reach the smashed side of his lips or his one eye.

"I can't pretend to not be disappointed in you. I expected your experiences to have given you greater insight."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" asked Hermione. She wasn't getting any less cross.

Harry sighed. "You were once the custodian of a Time-Turner. It was a flagrant risk on Dumbledore's part to give you that, by the way. It put, literally, the entire world in danger. Entrusting _time itself_ to a thirteen year old girl? No mater how gifted you were. With Tom Riddle looking for any way of returning to power. What the actual fuck was he thinking?"

Hermione was affronted, but at the same time horrified. She knew Harry was making a very valid point, but he didn't press it.

"Anyway, what was the main rule you learned about the Time-Turner? The one thing you _couldn't _do with it?"

Hermione thought. "I couldn't go _forwards_ in time, only back."

"Precisely. And why was that?"

"Because the future hasn't been written yet," Hermione recited. McGonagall's voice was still clear in her mind.

"So where does prophecy fit into that?" Harry pressed. "How can one accurately, succinctly predict an unwritten future?"

"Obviously, you _can't._" Hermione was getting annoyed with Harry's maddeningly patient air. She had a wild, fleeting idea of what it was like to talk to _herself_ when she was explaining something, and being smug about it. She would have to stop doing that. "Hence why divination is woolly, unreliable and, frankly, a load of old rubbish."

Harry smiled at her gently. He didn't want to make her angry, that wasn't his intention. He spoke softly with his next words.

"Yet you blindly followed me on a quest to destroy Horcruxes, to defeat Tom Riddle, when you _knew_ my limitations as a wizard compared to his. When the best hope we had lay in a _prophecy _\- a prediction of an _unwritten future_ \- that said I was _fated_ to kill him. But gave no indication of how."

Hermione stared at him. Her mouth had fallen open again. "Well, yes...but I...what I mean to say is that...well..."

Harry gave a bark of a laugh. "It's okay to say you followed me because we were friends. I let you come for that reason. But the prophecy was still both our biggest source of hope and most horrific dose of reality. Apparently, I had the _power_ to beat Riddle, but the reality was that none of us knew what that power was or how to harness it.

"Fucking Dumbledore said it was love. Bullshit. He thought if I sacrificed myself to Riddle I would save everyone. That my sacrifice would be like a giant version of what _he thought_ my mum's was for me. Like I'm so fucking special that my death meant more than that of _anyone_ else who laid down their lives in defence of those they loved. It was one of Dumbledore's more obscure mistakes."

"Then your mum dying for you _wasn't_ the thing which gave you protection? But what about with Quirrell?" asked Hermione.

Harry smiled at her, it flashed a spark of emerald into the viridian of his eye. "You love to think. I love watching the process flit over your face. Indulge me, for old times."

Hermione blushed and scrunched up her nose as she considered the problem. It was unbearably cute. Harry blinked to stop himself staring.

"Your mother and father knew of your heritage," Hermione mused. "They were getting into naturalistic forms of magic after they found out. And they knew Vold...sorry, _Riddle..._was coming for you."

"Good. Go on."

"And your mother was excellent at charms and potions," Hermione continued. Harry nodded. Hermione's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "They_ knew_ you were going to be attacked! Your mother _prepared_ you for it?"

"Good girl," said Harry, lightly. "My mother and father turned their house into a ritual space as soon as Dumbledore essentially imprisoned them there. They needed to be ready. But, more than that, they knew what was going to happen."

"In what way?"

"By understanding the nuances of the prophecy," said Harry. "This branch of magic is a tricky thing. If you know something is going to happen, do your actions lead inevitably to it, or do they _make_ it occur? Even if you try to prevent it? Its impossible to know. But the difference between my parents and Dumbledore is that my father was equally as clever and my mother far more insightful. Together, they understood the prophecy far beyond Dumbledore's basic, flaky interpretation.

"You see, in his world view, either me or Riddle would die at the hands of the other. Basic as hell. No detail, no proactive effort to fulfil the terms. It would just _happen_. There it was, black and white. Fuck me, he was limited in his thinking. Anyway, my mother and father deconstructed it, realised that I would have a power which would enable me to win the fight. Dumbledore took it as Riddle _giving_ me the power when he cursed me. But the prophecy doesn't say that. In fact, it doesn't describe that power at all. He marked me as his equal, but to beat him, I'd have to be his _superior."_

_"_Okay. I'm with you so far."

"Stay with me," Harry quirked. "It gets complicated. So there it is, long and short. Me versus Riddle and I, somehow, have the capacity to win. My mum and dad knew that, but they surmised that Riddle would too, and that he would come for me. They also knew that to get to me, he'd have to go through them. They would stand and fight, do their utmost to protect me for as long as they could, but Tom Riddle is the most powerful sorcerer in five hundred years. They couldn't hope to win. But they knew _I_ could...but obviously not as a baby."

Hermione gasped. "So they sacrificed themselves? To prepare you for the future."

"Merlin, you're catching on fast," said Harry, impressed. "Have I ever said how sexy your intelligence is?"

"Harry..." said Hermione, flushing.

"I make no apologies," said Harry, unabashed. "I've faced death too many times in my life to give too much thought to propriety these days. But anyway, my parents knew that they would almost certainly die at the hands of Riddle. It was simple cause and effect. They wouldn't allow that evil cunt to _mark_ me without resistance, so they knew that whatever '_marking me'_ meant, it would only happen under duress. It was the _only_ part of the prophecy that was certain to happen.

"So, instead of running from it, they decided to _use_ it."

"Wow," said Hermione, quietly. She was still blushing from being called sexy. She hadn't felt that in a while. She pushed it aside for now, albeit reluctantly. "But they could have just kept running."

"And deny the world the only chance of freedom from Riddle?" asked Harry. "It would have been cowardly and shameful, just as if we had left that god-awful tent and Apparated away to Outer Mongolia and just left magical Britain to fend for itself. They couldn't live with that any more than we could. With the idea of all those deaths on their hands. So they tried to do something extremely brave with what they knew.

"They were going to die. They knew that. Somehow, despite any effort they made, Riddle would find them. My mum worked out how. She was as logical as you. He would get to them via a weakness in their circle. He would torture and kill their friends one by one to find them. They started with the Longbottoms. Poor Frank and Alice. Left to the depravity of the Lestranges. It was Riddle's insurance policy, in case he'd chosen the wrong boy to go after.

"My mum knew what would happen next. It would be Sirius or Lupin or even Petunia. And why should they suffer just to delay the inevitable? So they refused Dumbledore as Secret Keeper. They correctly guessed Riddle would target Pettigrew, the weakest of the Marauders. So they made him Secret Keeper, then began a considered campaign to marginalise him, belittle him, even. To make him _think_ they were keeping him out of the inner circle and all the plans therein. It was psychological warfare against their friend, to drive him _to_ Riddle. To save him being tortured by him. To play on his weaknesses and insecurities to ultimately keep him alive."

"Harry! That's terrible!"

"It's dubious, yes, but they had the best intentions," said Harry. "They wanted to draw Riddle to them, and save Pettigrew into the bargain, without it looking like that was what they were doing. They wanted Riddle in _their_ space, where they would have the advantage, without him knowing it, without raising suspicions. He would be so mindless of the perceived victory, he'd make mistakes. He always does. Its a fundamental flaw of his. And their plan worked."

"But you said they couldn't beat him."

"Not in the conventional sense, no," Harry agreed. "But Riddle was doomed the moment he entered that house. It was their love versus his hate at that point. But on _their_ ground, on _their_ terms. They set ritual and runic traps for him everywhere and my father led him into each one. He was ridiculously brave, and so clever. They all drew aspects of Riddle's power, duplicated it, then channelled it into me. The final one - the one that killed my Dad - was a Parselmagic spell. He didn't even defend himself. He used blood magic on his death to funnel that ability into me."

"So that Riddle couldn't use snakes against you?" asked Hermione. She was slightly punch-drunk at the revelations.

"Or so that I could potentially use them against him" said Harry. "Making us equal, neutering that advantage he had."

"Or, if you think about it, giving _you_ the advantage," said Hermione, excitedly. "Remember how the basilisk at Hogwarts answered to you? Maybe it recognised you as superior."

"More than likely," said Harry. "Either way, it was part of my parents' plan to bring me to Riddle's level."

"So, what did your mum do?"

"Take a guess," said Harry. "I wasn't kidding when I said I love watching you think."

Hermione coloured again. "A charm, maybe? Intensified by a ritual?"

"Spot on," said Harry. "Ten points to Team Hermione. "It was a very _specific_ charm. My mum invented it. It meant that Riddle's harmful magic or intent couldn't ever really go to its full effect against me, and me alone. She used her death to power the spell. It's borderline necromancy, but I try not to think about that.

"So, Quirrell couldn't touch me, not because some magic in my skin was repelling him - like stupid old Albus thought - but because he was actively trying to hurt me. When Riddle touched me in the graveyard, he was just making a point. If he'd tried to strangle me, or something, he would have received the same as Quirrell."

"So the_ power he knows not_ is to able to be immune to him. He doesn't know that. He will keep coming for me like a fool. And I'll cut him down when he finds me."

"Ah, I understand," said Hermione. "I think. The charm was against any intent to hurt you, not simply _touch_ you. Your mum pretty much warded you against Riddle's hate of you."

"Right again, and that's still the case. Its why I survived the Killing Curse. I'm not some miracle child impervious to the curse, I'm just immune to _Riddle's Killing Curse._ Or any of his curses, actually. Its why I didn't suffer as badly as I should have from his Cruciatus." Harry's breathing hitched. He turned on the stone bench to face her, unspeakable sorrow filling his eye. "I...I know what you went through...at Malfoy Manor. What _Crucio_ really feels like. I'm so sorry you had to..."

Harry leant over and pressed a shaking hand to Hermione's chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in. It was a pained, raspy gulp.

"You still feel it," he whispered. "I know. I promise, when you've recovered your strength, I'll take you into ritual. I'll heal you, if you'll let me."

Hermione let out a choked sob, as though shocked by the promise, the compassion for her suffering. Nobody had understood before. Now Harry, through some innate process, suddenly did.

"I'll let you," she whimpered. She felt so small and weak, fragile in Harry's strong presence. Somehow, though, she felt safer and more protected than she could ever remember. How was Harry _doing_ this? She didn't want to leave his side ever again if it meant feeling like this.

"I'll make all this up to you, Hermione, I really will," Harry vowed.

"I know you will," she replied. "But you wont be making it up to _me_...you'll be making it up to _yourself._ I don't hold any of it against you, but I know you too well to argue. I just trust you'll tell me when you think you're forgiven."

Harry laughed at that. "Shut up, Hermione. You're making me laugh. I don't do laughing."

"So I've heard," said Hermione. "We will have to address that. But tell me, if Riddle didn't kill you with Avada Kedavra in the forest, why did you _look_ dead?"

"I was massively comatose," said Harry. "Like I said, I remember the curse, meeting Dumbledore in the afterlife, but when I woke up it was months later. Narcissa Malfoy cast a charm on me to make my skin cold and mask my pulse. I would have appeared dead to anyone who checked."

"But they built a pyre and set you _on fire_!" Hermione exclaimed. "I saw it. Well, I saw what I could through my tears."

Harry's heart ached at the concept of _Hermione distraught._ His anger flared and the once steady trees nearby flapped wildly as his magic pulsed around them. Hermione took a tentative step. Neville had said Harry didn't allow anyone to touch him. But he'd touched _her,_ to calm her.

Turnabout was fair play, after all.

So she cautiously tracked a hand up his arm and splayed it against his chest. Harry's breathing caught in his throat, but he didn't stop her or withdraw. His heart was hammering so hard she was genuinely worried for him. But there was something inherently wonderful about feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingers, beating so strong, beating for her. Her own heart fluttered wildly at the sensation.

"That fire was yet another of showman Tom's errors," said Harry. "He really can be quite thick, for a wizard who is otherwise brilliant. The fire masked the phoenix apparition, which allowed me to escape suffering only superficial burns. They healed easily enough."

"But there was a body..."

Harry sighed darkly. "That was also Narcissa's doing. She arranged the switch for one of the Hogwarts dead. To this day I don't know who it was. I'm not sure even she does. She just found some poor soul who's body shape was similar to mine, cut a massive scar into his face - and lets be fair I'm so hideous who would want to check me close-up - then used the phoenix to switch the bodies on the pyre. Simple really, but effective. It happened so fast no-one was any the wiser. Even me. I just woke up in the catacombs with a sore face and a ton of questions."

Hermione sat back, considering Harry's words in wonder. "But I still don't understand why Narcissa helped you at all. You say she's an Acolyte of St David, but her husband was also a Death Eater."

"A marriage she took at great risk to herself, to be an insider to the enemy," Harry explained. "And to be able to keep a tab on me surreptitiously through Draco. She knew I was alive in that forest. She quickly Occlumens'd me to see if Draco had survived. She saw that we saved and spared him. She's really very powerful, you know. Had she any lingering doubts about me, the act of saving her son convinced her to continue taking risks for me. She defied Riddle, lied directly to him. Then facilitated my rescue."

"But to do what? She must have known that without you the world had lost its beacon of hope," said Hermione. "That we'd all just crumble."

"She knew of the prophecy, all branches of the Knights did," said Harry. "So if I had survived Riddle, again, it must mean I was destined to win...somehow. Remember, at that point we had no idea how it was going to happen. It was quite an act of faith. She did her part, delivered my body to the Knights, then she took up her dual role again before anyone knew what had happened. She saved my life, Hermione."

Hermione nodded as she considered that. "But then what?"

"The Knights had a simple task - get me ready to face Riddle again. To rid the world of the greatest threat to me. It was the best way to keep me alive. So they devised a proactive programme to improve my combat skills, to introduce me to the powers of runic and ritual magic. They've spent the last five years working to that purpose. Actually, more than that."

"More?"

Harry nodded. "I'm a Potter, true to my name. We are alchemists, really. We take a transmuting agent - fire - and use it to turn a thing from one state to another. Accomplishing something nature would take much longer to do, do an exaggerated degree. That makes me a master of _time_ as well."

He pulled out a thin chain from around his neck. A very fine hourglass was suspended in a golden hoop within the chain. Hermione gasped as she saw it.

"_You_ have a Time-Turner!"

"Probably the oldest and most accurate one ever made," said Harry. "It was necessary to facilitate my training. I've probably aged a good two years more than I look due to using this thing."

"What training have you had?" asked Hermione, still marvelling at the Time-Turner.

"Where to start," Harry sighed. "Understand, Hermione, they treated this as preparing me for a war. So I spent most of my time abroad. I was apprenticed to the _Zauber Geheimdeinst, _or ZGD for short, in Germany for over a year."

"Who are the ZGD?"

"The German secret service branch of the International Confederation of Wizards," Harry explained.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You apprenticed with _Hit Wizards?"_

"The ZGD are the most highly-skilled and advanced organisation of their kind in the world," said Harry. "I was mentored by a wizard named Dietmar Friedrich. The guy is an absolute badass. He took me on missions with him. Highly against ZGD protocols, obviously, but for Harry Potter some rules can be broken."

"Harry...wait, _missions?_"

"Yes. We went all over the world. You remember old Lockhart and his books? Well, that was my life for a while. Fighting Zombies in South Sudan was an interesting experience."

"Zombies?" asked Hermione. She had paled.

"Reanimated corpses, Inferi, that sort of thing. There was a warlord there that the ICW had been after for a while. When Didi was done with him the guy had no limbs left."

Harry closed his eyes in reverence. Hermione was shaking her head in wonder.

"So you were trained as a Hit Wizard? Wow. What else?"

"After Berlin came Buenos Aires. I think," said Harry.

"Why were you in Argentina?"

"A man named Florentin Perez," said Harry. "Current World Duelling Champion. I spent months working with him. Got more use of the Time-Turner there than anywhere. His closest challenger for the title, a French woman named Sophie Dechartres, joined us for much of it. She's, frankly, terrifying. She has _two_ wands, you know."

"Really?" said Hermione. "So, you're now a highly trained magical secret agent and world-class dueller? This is getting pretty hot, Harry."

Harry shied away. "The ICW considers me a Class One War Mage, actually. First one to reach that level in about two centuries."

"Hotter still," said Hermione, leaning back. "So now you've come back to save the world?"

Harry grinned. "I only came back to Britain when Neville contacted me. Said he needed back-up for a dangerous mission. Turns out he was just going to propose to Enola and he needed support. He was a nervous wreck, bless him."

"How did Neville get involved?"

"He's a descendant of Gryffindor," said Harry. "Not Godric, but his younger brother, Taliesin. When he took possession of Gryffindor's sword to kill Nagini, it recognised he was in danger and transported him away. Poor Nev, he was trapped in a Gringotts vault in the pitch darkness for three days until the Knights finally discovered whose vault he ended up in. He still doesn't like to sleep with all the lights off."

"Poor Neville!" Hermione cried. "Poor Enola! Its a wonder she gets any sleep at all!"

Harry quirked his eyebrow at her. "I didn't put your room too close to theirs, did I? I know they can get...er...pretty passionate when Alison isn't there. I was going to turn the whole East wing over to them...the rest of the castle would certainly approve..."

"Harry!..." Hermione admonished with a crimson blush, swatting at him playfully. Harry looked down to the spot where they'd connected. Hermione was horrified. "Harry...I'm sorry."

"You know," he said quietly, "Normally, I don't like anyone touching me. But with you...I don't know...I-I don't mind. I let Neville touch me for healing rituals and things. But he's the only one. And even that is because I have no choice. I'd rather he didn't, to be honest."

"But you don't mind me?" Hermione's voice quavered as she asked.

Harry shook his head and looked down at his forearm, where Hermione's hand had found its way to rest. He might have been looking at curiosity itself, such was the child-like expression on his face. Hermione took a shuddering breath and a huge risk. She brought her hand up, snaked it shakily around his shoulder. Harry tensed, then seemed to give in to her. Emboldened, she curled her other arm around his neck and linked her fingers together at his nape. Gently, and with several false starts of uncertainty, she coaxed his broken head towards her until he surrendered utterly and turned to rest it on her shoulder.

His whole body sagged into her embrace and she pulled him impossibly tight, with a snatched movement that ignored all her previous restraint. She felt years of tension in his body release then, in a reaction that stunned her completely, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her practically into his lap. She went without a moments resistance. She didn't know what this was, or what was really happening, only that she wanted to be here more than any other place in the world.

She curled her fingers into his hair and placed a shy kiss to his forehead. She felt rather brazen, to be allowed such intimacy with a man renowned for his solitude.

"You know, I've been talking with Enola about you," she whispered breathily into his ear. "About _me_ and you, specifically. She's been saying some rather interesting things."

Harry laughed. "I bet she has. She never could keep a secret."

"You're doing a pretty awful job of it yourself."

"Yet you're still here."

Hermione increased the pressure of their hug. "I didn't say I didn't like what she had to say...or that I didn't feel the same. _Exactly the same, _in case you were wondering."

Harry took a turn at deepening their embrace. There wasn't much more they could do before they fused together.

"Pity you're already married," Harry teased.

Hermione stiffened and scoffed loudly. "Don't ever mention that, Harry. I have no guilt if you don't."

"None at all," Harry replied. "But I could grant you a divorce. I'm technically the ruler of this country. I have that sort of power, you know."

Hermione thought a moment. "I'd prefer you to make me a widow."

"Consider it done," said Harry darkly. "Any other favours?"

"Do you mind?"

Harry moved his head back and held her gaze with a steady look. The emerald sparkle was back in his eye.

"For you...anything. Do you like the house? If things turn out right, it could be all yours."

Hermione gasped and felt a flush rush up from her chest at Harry's blatant suggestion. It was a little overwhelming. She gathered her rampant thoughts.

"Actually, I was going to ask you if you could go and rescue Susan Bones," said Hermione. "She's been my best friend for the last few years. She's married to Blaise Zabini and he batters her worse even than Ron did to me. I hate to think of her suffering still."

Hermione wasn't about to ignore the hurt and disappointed look on Harry's face though. She grinned at him mischievously.

"And, as far as the house goes, I think _we_ should have the East wing. It has the best view of the gardens. Besides, I don't want your magic to wake anyone up when we make love. I've heard you often lose control. I can't _wait_ for you to lose control with me."

Harry's mouth fell open a moment, before he fell back laughing.

"And my face doesn't bother you?"

"Harry - I swear we will find a way to fix that," said Hermione. "I wont rest till I know how. But if we never do, I wont care one bit. If we do it, we'll do it for you."

"Then in lieu, let me do what I can for you," said Harry standing.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're going for Susan _now?_"

"If she's getting beaten up by Zabini, as you say, I wont let her stay there a moment longer than she has to," said Harry stoutly. "Besides, I've been itching to use _this_."

Harry flicked his robe to reveal the shining silver sword dangling from his hip.

"Harry..." Hermione whispered breathlessly. "Is that...?"

Harry smiled. "Yes it is. And _Excalibur_ hasn't tasted blood in _centuries_. She must be thirsty."

And with that Harry swept away without another word, leaving Hermione feeling hotter than the sun.


	5. Riddles In The Dark

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry withdrew the blade of Excalibur from the second Death Eaters' chest with a deeply satisfying _sschhinng. _One of the main lessons he'd learned from the ZGD was not to be showy in battle, not to toy with his prey. Acquire your target, eliminate as quickly and efficiently as possible, don't give them time to react or raise an alarm.

He'd also learned that while Disillusionment Charms were useful, his Invisibility Cloak was better.

As he surveyed the wreckage he'd caused, he accepted that he'd absorbed both these lessons well. He sheathed Excalibur and drew his wand, tapping it to the frame of his glasses. He didn't often wear them anymore. Frankly, perched on top of his turban-like shawls, they made him look rather ridiculous. Contact lenses were far more sensible.

But glasses still had a use, and as Harry cancelled the Night Vision and Body Heat detection spells he'd cast on them, he was potently reminded of this fact. His Cloak had shielded _him_ completely from the surveillance and scanning charms the Death Eater guards had been using. They hadn't seen him coming, whereas his lone eye had been fixed on the glowing heat signatures of their bodies.

Bodies now turning cold at his feet.

Harry cast a defence diagnostic rune in the air, pushed his magic into it and shot it at the house. His wand was behaving in a peculiar manner. It was leaving behind a light trail every time he waved it. It looked pretty cool against the darkness of the night, but Harry was suspicious of the change. He thought he knew what was causing it though.

The magic of the Potter Legacy was still settling on him. Or, rather, _unsettling _him. It hadn't yet been properly absorbed and the magical base of his being was tentatively resisting it. He would have to get into ritual soon to deal with it. He was shivery and shaky, as one is after being severely sick. It was distracting.

Though he half thought Hermione might have something to do with that.

He was a little mindless after their reunion, positively euphoric over the hug they'd shared. She wasn't supposed to have reacted like that, or said the incredible things she did. Harry was rattled by it, his careful plan shattered into a thousand wondrous pieces. He needed a new plan, and this gift to her would form its foundation.

The rune returned to him and Harry grinned darkly in triumph as he absorbed it. Zabini's guards hadn't got the house wards up in time. He would be utterly unprepared. Harry stood and touched his wand to his temple.

"Angharad! Myfanwy! Rhian!" he whispered.

In a soft _whoosh_ the two witches materialised next to him. They were dressed in identical floor-length, dragonhide battle robes, though they looked more like trenchcoats. Black for the most part, with patchy red scales all down the front, and rune-carved dragon teeth toggles. Both had their wands drawn and throbbing with their magic. A second later and Rhian joined them with a light _pop_.

"I want you to move the bodies," Harry said lowly, addressing the witches. "Prepare a ritual circle. Nothing fancy."

"Purpose?" Angharad queried.

"I'm going to rip the Dark Mark from Zabini when I'm done with him," said Harry coldly. "Use it to send a little message to Riddle and all those he's Marked. I want them to know what happens to people who get in the way of me completing a favour for Hermione. These two will increase the effectiveness of the rite."

"The Power of Three," said Myfanwy, nodding her approval.

Harry returned her nod, then turned to his Head Elf. "I need you to pack up Miss Bones's things and take her to the Palace as soon as I have her. Let Lady Hermione know as soon as you get her settled."

"Yes, Master Harry," said Rhian stoutly.

Harry turned once again to the house. In two flicks of his wand he'd vanished the back door and cast a muffling charm on himself. The power of both caused a gentle breeze to swirl around the garden. It had another, more subtle note, too

"Is it just me, or is Harry's magic just the _hottest_ fucking thing?" asked Angharad, slightly breathily as Harry stalked into the house.

"No, love, my knickers have gone pretty wet, too," Myfanwy replied, her eyes bright and flushed.

"We _so_ have to learn how he does that," said Angharad.

Myfanwy nodded enthusiastically. "That Hermione girl is one _lucky_ witch!"

Harry heaved heavy, determined breaths as he crossed the threshold and into a kitchen. There was one, half discarded meal on the dining table. Harry snarled at it, anger stirring at its meaning. He didn't pause. He headed down a hallway into the living room. The door was ajar and Harry spied Zabini, sprawled languidly and sipping from a large glass of claret, on a hearthrug clearly made of unicorn hide. Indeed, the horn was the base of a small, glass coffee table.

Zabini was watching a series of adverts on the Wizarding Broadcast Network. One advocated the benefits of signing up children to the Junior Death Eaters Club, a fun covenant dedicated to comradeship, Pureblood advancement and the joys of practising magic in reverence of the Lord Voldemort. A second advised on ways citizens could spot deviant, anti-Voldemort behaviour and the relevant authorities to report such incidents to.

Harry growled at the sight. It startled Zabini, but before he could even move Harry had hit him with a high level Stunner, _levicorpus_ and a Body-Bind hex in a chain-cast, each spell drawing power from the last and increasing exponentially in potency as a result. Harry's fury had infused the spell so fiercely he'd overpowered the Body-Bind, resulting in the crushing of most of Zabini's sternum and collapsing a lung, so tight was the bind.

But Harry didn't even blink as he heard the bones shatter. Nor as Zabini screamed out in agony and fainted from the pain. Satisfied Zabini was subdued, Harry searched the house for Susan. When he found her, his heart stopped. A second later his rage exploded out so forcefully it decimated an antique carriage clock on a side table nearby, shattering it into a thousand shards.

For Susan looked every inch her name. Bones - a very wounded bag of them was all she was. Clearly, Zabini had been starving her. She looked thin and frail, fragile to the point of breaking. But this wasn't the worst part.

She was chained up to a wall, slumped on the bare wooden floor with her wrists in manacles that caused her arms to stretch above her head. It was as if she were being crucified. Her head had lolled where she'd been blatantly knocked out recently. She had two deep black eyes, her right cheek was angrily bruised and swollen, her lip sporting a fresh cut that was still bleeding.

An image flashed into Harry's mind, one so terrifying that he was actually afraid of his own acute, focused anger as it ignited in him. Hermione...in this position...chained and beaten...Ron swilling expensive wine as if it was his reward for doing it...

And Harry let out a roar so loud, so full of uncontrolled fury, of intense, acidic hatred that it obliterated all the windows in the house and sent a crack racing through the brickwork right to the foundations. He wanted to push it into a ley line...follow each one till he found Ron...

And set him on fire where he stood.

But that wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough. Ron deserved far more. Harry resolved that he would get it. He took several gulps of clean, cool air. There was plenty around now the windows had been busted out. The sudden gusts had roused Susan, who was staring up at him with confused, frightened eyes.

Harry knelt down, mindful not to stress Susan further by making any sudden movements. She looked incredibly timid, cowering away and backing towards the wall. Harry felt another surge of anger swell within him. Susan's eyes were so puffed up and swollen she could barely see out of them.

"It's alright, Susan, you're safe now," Harry whispered in what he hoped was a comforting voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who are you?"

There was a sharp, urgent _pop_ and Rhian appeared at Harry's side.

"Master Harry!" Rhian admonished. "The windows! What yous be _doing_ up here! Aww!"

The elf gasped as she saw Susan's condition. Roiling fury sparked in her wide eyes.

"Release her, please, Rhian," said Harry. "My hands are shaking too much. I don't trust myself to not accidentally hurt her."

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Harry? Harry _who_?" asked Susan, as Rhian snapped her fingers and the binds on Susan's wrists clicked open.

"It's me, Susan. Harry Potter."

Susan gasped in shock. "Never! _Fuck off!_ I don't believe you. Show me your face."

"I know its a near impossibility, considering everything," said Harry, "but I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. And I cant show you my face. I'm sorry, but I have legitimate reasons. Hermione will explain everything when you see her."

"Minny! Is she _alive_! Tell me she is."

"She is," Harry repeated. "And I'm sending you to her, while I deal with that utter bastard husband of yours."

Susan stiffened in front of him. "Harry - if that's really you - please...I'd like to stay. I'd like to see what you do to him."

"Sue - you're badly injured and need help. You're very weak."

"I have strength enough for this."

Harry looked at Rhian and they were of one mind, but Sue was determined. Harry conceded.

"Very well," said Harry. "Be warned - I don't intend to make this pretty."

"I hope you make it as ugly as possible," said Susan darkly.

"Come along then," said Harry, standing. "Rhian, gather Miss Bones's things and send them home. Anything you want from the house, Sue?"

"Just its' ashes," she replied dourly.

Harry smiled at her. A smile as twisted as he felt. "As you wish. Can you make it downstairs? I don't want to offer you support if you're uncomfortable with male touch."

Susan looked up at him. "Sorry if I'm scowling. Gentlemanly conduct is pretty alien to me these days. Are you telling me Hermione has been enjoying this since she disappeared? That lucky little witch!"

Harry chuckled. "In fact, I only spoke to her this morning. I'm ashamed that I left her to the whims of that utter cunt Ron Weasley. My revenge on him will be worthy of song, you know. Hermione said you've become great friends. She asked me to rescue you."

"And you just came?"

"Anything for Hermione."

"I always knew you loved each other!" said Susan, wryly. "It was the worst kept secret when we were at Hogwarts."

"Great Merlin! Am I that transparent?" Harry wondered aloud. "What makes you think that? And so quickly?"

Susan scoffed at him. "Ron was your best friend for years. You've just called him an 'utter cunt'. And just for his treatment of Minny, I assume. You must know what he's been doing to her?"

Harry shuddered. "I can't think about that. I broke your house in half just by imagining a worst-case scenario. If I knew what _really_ happened..."

"Exactly. Totally in love. Only love can be that destructive. I can hear it in your voice. She is a lucky little witch. I hope she knows it."

"She doesn't _look_ lucky," said Harry. "She can barely walk."

"Poor Minny," said Susan. "But, then again, neither can I. So, a shoulder, please."

Harry stepped close, took Susan's weight as she leaned on him. "Minny?"

"She doesn't really like it," Susan confessed. "But seriously...four syllables? There must be an easier way."

Harry chortled at that. He'd always tried to fashion a nickname or abbreviation for Hermione, but nothing had ever quite seemed right. "Speaking of easier ways...lets forget about that. I'm all for the hard road with Blaise. Tell me now if you're squeamish or harbour any emotion for your husband. I don't intend to be gentle."

Susan rounded on him. "I've been battered and starved to within an inch of my life. I don't have Stockholm Syndrome. You do as you please, just make it painful."

Harry smiled darkly. "Oh...I will."

They moved slowly, gingerly down the stairs and into the living room. Susan halted at the sight of Blaise, suspended in mid-air, his chest distorted and unnaturally compressed.

"What did you _do_ to him?" she breathed.

"Just a welcome gift," said Harry. "He might not survive it. But he'll survive long enough."

Susan cocked her battered face to him. "When did you get so dark? It's kind of sexy, you know."

"I've been told," said Harry simply. "Just have a seat. This is my arena now."

Susan did as she was told. Harry threw off his cloak and Susan watched with bulging eyes. Harry's head was covered with a balaclava of some kind of hide. It looked snake-like, scaly. Maybe basilisk. It was scored with strange symbols and markings which glowed and hummed as they caught the light. They coated Harry's head with a sort of film of heaving magical energy that was so intense Susan could feel it from her seat several feet away. Then Harry flicked out his wand. A wave of magical power swept the room as wand and hand fused. It made Susan's hair stick on end and the skin on her neck crept with sensation. She was a mix of wary and completely safe. It was jarring.

But Harry had mind only for the suspended Death Eater under his control. He knew if he brought Zabini round he would die from his injuries. That wasn't on the cards just yet. He had several uses for him before that happened. The most pressing of which was closure for Hermione's best friend. Reluctantly, he cast several healing runes which would stabilise him. They wouldn't subdue all the pain, but they'd give him just enough to stay awake.

"Renervate!"

Zabini came around, then screamed sickeningly as the pain hit. Harry cast a bored Silencing Charm on him. He rather thought Susan was enjoying it, but it was at such an annoying pitch that it irritated Harry immensely. For a few moments they just watched Blaise screeching silently. It was a bizarre sight. Then Harry turned to his captive.

"Hello Blaise. You fucking cunt."

He cancelled the Silence Charm as Zabini tried to respond.

"Potter! Is...is that you?"

"No, its my fucking brother," said Harry, stalking around. "Don't try and struggle. The more you move, the more it will hurt. Actually, with that in mind...move away."

Harry flicked his wand and cast a Shaking Charm at Zabini. The idea behind the spell was defensive - make your enemy so uncoordinated they can't aim a counter-spell at you. But in this case it made Zabini's smashed body vibrate...with agonising effects. His pained shriek was so piercing even Harry winced at it. He cancelled the spell.

"Merlin, what a pussy. I would say you cry like a girl, but that would insult all the rock-hard girls I know. I could do this all night...but this isn't my revenge."

Harry flicked his wand again. Zabini's robe fell away, leaving him naked and writhing in agony and embarrassment. Harry turned back to Susan.

"You know, back in the old days, the punishment for rape in the magical world was terrifyingly severe. Sue - how many times did this piece of shit rape you?"

"I never...I never did...Potter, please..."

"Shut the fuck up, Zabini," said Harry. He flicked a Cutting Curse at him which brought a deep gash across his cheek from lip to ear. Blood flowed from it profusely. "Your mouth wants to be so big...I thought I'd help it out. Speak out of turn again and I'll take your fat ugly tongue for good measure. Now, Sue...how many times did he _rape_ you?"

Harry let his emphasis hang awhile before pressing Susan for an answer. She sighed deeply.

"I stopped counting. It was...w-weekly."

Harry clenched his jaw, his stomach coiling and uncoiling in angry rhythm. "Weekly," he repeated. "The punishment in the old world was castration. Testicular and penial castration. Now, Susan, I could teach you the Castration Hex that was the order of the day back then. Or, we could just use a good, old-fashioned Severing Curse. It's more painful, mind you, so make your choice wisely."

"Sue...please..."

Susan curled her face angrily. "Cut him, Harry...cut him to pieces."

Harry nodded, then flicked his wand. Zabini screamed as his left testicle was sliced clean off. Harry watched it roll across the floor, as Zabini's eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

"Stay with us, Blaise. You don't want to miss this. _Renervate._"

Zabini woke again, tears poured from his eyes. Harry didn't even see them. Another flick, another screech of agony, another testicle bounced across the floor. Harry slashed his wand again. The scream this time was louder than the others. Harry wasn't surprised.

For he'd just sliced Zabini's penis in half down the middle. That had to sting.

Two more swipes of Harry's wand, light trail following behind, and Zabini was completely relieved of his genitals. The pain robbed him of consciousness again. The blood loss cant have helped either, and the black-red pool beneath Zabini was a sight to behold at this point. Harry woke him angrily.

"Don't you dare pass out again," Harry seethed. "How dare you? You brought this end on yourself! Now you will fucking watch it. Incendio!"

And Zabini whimpered as his severed genitalia went up in angry flames.

"You know I am a Parselmouth, yes?" Harry asked. "Well, there is an interesting spell in Parselmagic which prevents regrowth over magically-severed skin. You'd be amazed how many snakes can re-grow their bodies if not sliced at just the right point on the neck. So a clever Parselmouth developed this spell to prevent re-growth and the retribution which might follow. Here, let me show you."

Harry arced his wand, hissed the spell in snake-language and Zabini's bare groin glowed purple for a moment. The bleeding stopped instantly.

"There you go, all fixed," said Harry icily. "Of course, it will mean you can never wield a penis again. But oh, silly me, what have I done? That will mean you cant have sex again, that you cant impregnate one of the skanky whores that Uncle Tom might have lined up for you. You cant have any more use to the Pureblood agenda! Oh dear, my bad, Blaise. What will Riddle do with you now?"

Susan scoffed nearby. She knew full well what would happen. Her revenge was complete.

"Harry," she whispered. "I've seen enough. Can you help me?"

"Of course," said Harry. He hissed in Parseltongue again and Rhian appeared. He didn't want to give her name away in such a hostile environment. "You know what to do."

"Yes, Master Harry," said Rhian. She took Susan by the hand and disappeared.

Harry span back to Zabini as he groaned in anguish again. He was still naked, hanging upside down. Harry had an idea. He holstered his wand and drew Excalibur again. It positively pulsed with its own power. Harry moved close to Zabini, carefully slashing three shallow cuts across his chest. Each one shone with a deep orange glow, holding the swirling blood inside the ridges of the wounds. When looked at from this angle, they created an angry, lightening-shaped cut.

Harry thought he might have just started a trend.

Harry switched from sword to wand again and cancelled the levicorpus spell. Zabini fell in a heap to the ground with a dull thud. Harry flicked a binding spell at him and began to slowly pull his broken body behind him as he left the house. He wasn't careful to avoid obstacles. Or the rutted gravel driveway of the garden outside. Harry dragged Zabini away from the house, a short distance into the hills beyond, where Angharad and Myfanwy were waiting.

Angharad eyed the mark on Zabini's chest. "What's with the branding?"

Harry chuckled. "Spur of the moment idea, I suppose."

"I approve," Angharad replied, nodding.

"What's the ritual we are doing?" asked Myfanwy. She motioned at the circle and pentagram she had drawn, glowing white-hot on the ground and singeing the dry grasses nearby.

"I'm going to pull the Dark Mark from this cunt," said Harry, kicking Zabini into the ritual circle. "Then I'm going to hijack the connection all three of these bastards have to Tom Riddles' collective. I'm going to use it to send them a message they'll not soon forget."

"I hope it will be painful," said Myfanwy, acidly. She toed the corpse of the dead Death Eater nearest her. He and his partner had been placed at key points around the circle. When Zabini had been rolled into place under Harry's boot, the grid lines connecting them flared up in angry greens and purples. Nothing, not even a whole coven of powerful sorcerers, could have moved them now without Harry's consent.

"It will burn like Fiendfyre in their veins," said Harry grimly. "Then I'm going to dispel their disgusting magic from me. Should be quite the display. I hope Ron Weasley gets to hear about it. He will _wish_ for this fate compared to what I'm going to do to him."

Harry stepped into the middle of the circle and threw his cloak onto the ground nearby. Without prompting, Angharad and Myfanwy moved into well practiced positions around the circle. They angled their wands towards Harry at the centre.

"May our purpose be just and magic favour us," Harry began. "Do I have your will?"

"You have our will, and our power," the girls recited in chorus. The lines of the ritual circle shot upwards in sheets of brilliant light, before retreating and covering them in a dome of shimmering silver.

Harry nodded his thanks. Then he aimed his wand at Zabini, focusing on the coiled snake tattooed on his forearm.

"I draw this profanity, as poison from a wound. Let the spirit of the North winds, cut and slice."

Zabini shrieked again, perhaps for the last time in his life. The skin of his forearm was flayed off and soared to Harry, who trapped it inside a rune he cast deftly into the air in front of him. It shone a brilliant yellow as it revolved in place. Zabini passed out. Harry left him this time.

"Let the Water of the West cleanse and clean this abomination, if She sees fit," said Harry, pointing his wand at one of the Death Eaters. His own Dark Mark melted from his arm and joined Zabini's in the rune. "Let the Earth of the East take back the corrupt into the soil, if He sees fit."

The second Death Eater was relieved of his Dark Mark. The rune span in the air and glowed fiercely red and blood-orange. Harry watched it curiously, assessing it, pushing his own power into it. The ritual circle was, by now, in the throes of a potent whirlwind of air and magic. It whipped Myfanwy's long hair into a frenzy and the trailing end of Harry's shawl was threatening escape. Swift, swirling clouds had gathered in the previously clear skies above them. Dark, black, crackling with energy and power. Harry coaxed the rune high into the air at the apex of the circle.

"May the Fire of the South burn our enemies...burn our very intent into the sky itself!"

Harry shot the rune, now burning a fiery white-gold, into the night sky at breathtaking speed. It snapped away from view with a clap of thunder so forceful that it shook the trees nearby. Harry looked up. There, high above the circle, the Sowilo rune he'd cast was firmly implanted into the clouds. If Tom Riddle and his followers used a skull to create fear after a murder, he would use a bolt of lightening to strike fright into _them_.

"Your anger is artistry itself," Angharad commented complimentarily.

"It is," Myfanwy agreed. "I hope they are all burning in agony right about now. Bastards."

"Come along ladies," said Harry. "As much as I'd like to stay around for the Death Eaters to come and investigate, I have other tasks for the night. Get yourselves home."

"Are you not coming?" asked Myfanwy.

"I'll be along," said Harry, holstering his wand and collecting his cloak as the light of the ritual circle finally faded away.

"What shall we tell Hermione?" asked Angharad. "She's bound to ask after you."

"Just tell her I've completed her favour, as she asked. Now, I'm going to get her a present."

"You know what, I might just reconsider being a lesbian," said Angharad thoughtfully. "Am I in with any sort of chance, Harry, before I renounce my sexuality?"

Harry grinned beneath his shawl. "As fit as you are, Ann, nope. No chance at all. Sorry."

"Ah well, didn't hurt to ask," said Angharad, smirking. "Just remember, I'm always up for a threesome. Just saying."

"Or a foursome," Myfanwy added. "The more the merrier."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry. "Now go."

And with that, all three Disapparated away.

* * *

Enola emerged from the bedroom looking exhausted. Hermione felt a shock of pity for her. She was a hell of a state. She'd been helping to work on Susan for at least thirty-six hours with barely any break and the effort involved was taking its toll.

For Susan's condition had been far more severe than anyone could have imagined. Her internal injuries were so terrible...Alice Longbottom was seriously concerned that they might lose her altogether. Enola's mother, Arianwen, had been called in to stabilise her. Arianwen had unique gifts, not just with ancient runic magic - in which she mentored Harry - but also with crystal-based magic. It had taken a few false tries, but they'd eventually found a configuration of healing stones that worked. Susan was now held within a field of vibrational frequencies from the crystals that were keeping her alive.

But only just.

Hermione choked back her sickness at the thought as Enola practically stumbled into her arms. Her eyes were dull, glazed, her usually immaculate features taut and strained. The poor girl was in dire need of rest. But Hermione had needs of her own, namely finding out the condition of her best friend.

"Enola! Are you alright?" Hermione yelped, as Neville's wife clutched at her robes to keep her balance. Hermione curled an arm around Enola and guided her to the chair she had been using as a vigil-stool, ever since Susan had arrived at the Blue Palace. Enola slumped into it and took several heavy breaths.

"I'll be okay," said Enola, waving a hand to ward off any more overbearing attention. "As for your friend...that's not so cut and dried. She was so damaged, so much hurt beneath the surface. If she'd stayed there more than a couple of days longer...I think she might have actually died."

Hermione felt her throat constrict at the news. "Will she recover?"

"We've had to sedate her for now," said Enola, trying to sit up. "Magically-induced coma. It buys us some time. We will have to remove and regrow the bones in both her arms, one leg and much of her ribcage. As her for jaw and face...that will need cosmetic reconstruction once all that swelling goes down. She's been broken, and re-broken, without being allowed to heal and re-set properly. She lives in constant danger of puncturing an organ. Her bones are all at odd angles inside."

"Merlin forbid!" Hermione exclaimed. "Poor Sue...I knew she had it worse than me. But she never said it was quite so bad!"

Hermione clenched her fists and sat down with her back against the wall. She was too concerned to be angry. That would come later. She closed her eyes and took a lungful of air. How could things have come to this?

"At the risk of sounding funny...why the fuck didn't you girls _fight back?!" _Enola asked firmly. "You shouldn't have allowed this."

"I know...I know," said Hermione, ruefully. "We had nowhere to run to. But, looking back, maybe death would have been a blessing by comparison."

"And at least you could have taken some of them with you," said Enola. "What a bunch of cunts! Rhian!"

The Head Elf popped into the air next to Enola. She immediately handed over a vial of pinkish liquid.

"Your Pepper-Up potion, Lady Longbottom," said Rhian. "Drink, now."

Enola uncorked the vial and swallowed the liquid. She sagged back into the chair as the effects kicked in quickly.

"Thank you, Rhian. How's my baby?"

"You be meaning Baby Ally or Master Neville? Yous be calling him 'baby' nearly as much."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to hold in a giggle.

"The baby who poops itself," said Enola, somewhat crossly.

Rhian looked back, swarthy and affronted at Enola's tone. "Master Neville often poop himself. Especially when him and Master Harry get into the elfish ale...he not have the stomach for it. He drink like little pixie girl. If Rhian had a galleon for every time she have to clean him up..."

Hermione couldn't hold back a laugh this time. Enola looked mortified.

"Well, yes...but..."

"Now, _Master Harry_...he be knocking back beer like a mountain troll. I say he learned from the Germans...their ale be exceptional, even for elves's standards."

"It must be the beer purity laws," said Hermione, trying not to rock with the giggles flooding her.

"Must be, Lady Hermione," said Rhian, nodding sagely.

"Is there any news on where Harry is, anyway?" Hermione proffered quickly. "Has he returned yet?"

"He's only been gone three days, Min," said Enola, quirking an eyebrow at her. "That's nothing for him, really. You should get used to him being away like this. Aww, are you _missing_ him?"

"Yes, terribly," said Hermione, simply and without ceremony. Enola looked taken aback. "Did Susan give you that nickname for me? People are always trying to shorten my name. I'll never know why."

"Hermione is just so long," said Enola. "Its either Minny or Hermy, from when I thought your name was Hermy-Own. Pick one. That spelling really doesn't help, you know."

"A giant once called me Hermy," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"A giant! Now _that _sounds like a story I'd like to hear."

"It's not all that dramatic," said Hermione dismissively. "Unless you count me and Harry being made his surrogate parents for a while. I don't think it was a great introduction to parenthood for us."

"Master Harry be much better now," said Rhian, proudly. "Just ask baby Ally."

"He is great with her," Enola agreed. "Speaking of which, its time for her feed. And I'm sure she needs a change. Which of your elves are with her, Rhian?"

"No elf be with baby Ally right now, Lady Longbottom," said Rhian calmly.

"Dont tell me you've left her alone!"

The elf huffed and crossed her arms. "Rhian be insulted that yous be suggesting such a thing, Lady Longbottom! We's never leave baby Ally unattended."

"I'm sorry, Rhian, of course you wouldn't," said Enola placatingly. "But who's with her then?"

"Why, Master Harry, of course."

She said it so matter-of-factly that Hermione gasped aloud. Enola smirked at her. Hermione scrunched up her face in return.

"Harry's...I mean, _Master_ Harry...he's home?" asked Hermione, astonished. "For how long?"

"Not long, Lady Hermione," said Rhian. "Master Harry often go to see baby Ally first after long time away. But, Lady Hermione, you not need to call Master Harry '_master'. _He be not liking it."

"Why not?"

"Why would?" Rhian countered. "Lady Hermione be Master Harry's _Lady_...if she not be really dumb. Be Lady of the House one day, Mistress of the elves. Unless she be really, _really_ dumb. All elves be hoping she not. All be loving Lady Hermione, look forward to having her as Mistress. Master Harry not be _her_ Master...be her equal. But really, Lady Hermione be the Boss...men folk be needing hand-holding and guidance. Same for elves, same for witches and wizards."

Hermione felt her jaw fall open. Enola just hooted with laughter.

"Worst. Kept. Secret. Ever," said Enola, vibrating with giggles. "Come on, lets reunite these unrequited lovers, Rhian."

The Head Elf held out her hands. Hermione and Enola took one each and they were Apparated right up to the nursery. Rhian popped away again almost instantly. Hermione turned to Enola with an amused grin.

"Unrequited lovers? Really?"

"I could have gone the whole hog and plumped for _Ringless Betrothed_," said Enola fairly. "Honestly, the change in the air of the place since you've arrived...you know the estate pretty much reflects Harry's mood, yeah? That's how he configured the nursery to respond to Alison and not him, once he worked out that's what was going on. The ritual took twenty-six hours. Harry didn't falter once. But now the rest of the palace is practically rocking with happiness. _His_ happiness. And that's all down to you. I've never known it like this. Its pretty fucking awesome, to tell the truth. Just do us all one favour."

"What's that?" asked Hermione. She was blushing all sorts of scarlet.

"Please give us advanced notice before you shag him," said Enola simply. "It'll probably be so intense for him it'll have everyone in the palace coming simultaneously. It might cause a localised earthquake!"

"Ennie!" Hermione admonished playfully. Her blush heated her from toes to earlobes at this point.

Enola simply shrugged. She wasn't joking.

Hermione tingled all over at the prospect. It excited her. She'd had sex plenty of times, most of it under duress, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd been aroused sexually. She felt it now. She considered it with a sense of embarrassment, bordering on shame. Sex had always been a chore, an extension of household tasks. To be frank, something to keep her alive, to keep her out of the Avada Chambers of the death camps. It had been the same for Sue, for Luna, for every other woman she knew. To even suggest _enjoying_ sex was functionally equivalent to admitting treason in their world.

But now, Hermione was stirred. Her loins were waking up after a slumber. The rampantly flowing sexual ideas of Harry quickly pooled a wetness in Hermione's knickers. It was utterly inappropriate and she flushed with the mortification of it. Hermione felt the dampness with slight self-disdain. What if anyone found out? Or picked up on the scent, the aroma of her arousal. The shame would be unbearable.

So she halted just as they were about to enter the nursery, to compose herself. The sight which greeted them made her heart stop...then beat furiously as it kicked back to life. She actually threw a hand to her chest as she surveyed the scene before her.

For it was unspeakably beautiful.

Harry was in the nursery, quite alone, apart from little Alison cwtched into his shoulder. He was rocking her gently, humming softly into her downy-haired head. One hand supported her, the other smoothed her back in rhythmic circles. Alison's tiny hands were curled fists in Harry's robes, as she purred in comfort. Hermione's breath caught in her lungs. It looked such a perfect scene. Harry was more content than she had ever seen him, untroubled, just dancing there with a babe in his arms. And, for just a moment, Hermione felt the most intense sense of longing and loss she'd ever known.

_That could have been him...with OUR baby...with our daughter..._

And, in that few seconds, she realised she'd never known herself quite as completely as she did right then. Known quite so succinctly what she wanted in life. But also what she _could_ have had...what she'd lost. What Ron Weasley and Lord Voldemort had cost her. Hermione slumped against the frame of the door with the enormity of the revelations. It was as if all she'd ever fleetingly considered, ever cautiously desired in her life, suddenly pounded into her in an epic collision. It took her breath away.

Enola looked fondly at her, smiled knowingly. She had an innate gift for understanding. She slid a comforting arm around Hermione as Harry turned away from them.

"He's a natural at that, isn't he?" she whispered, motioning at Harry, cradling little Alison. Hermione could only nod. She had lost the power of coherent speech. "Alison was the first baby born to our little community here. Harry was insanely protective of her from the word Go. But she used to tug at his scarves and shawls all the time. It was the cutest thing.

"He doesn't know I know this...but he started casting cosmetic enchantments on his face so he could see the baby without wearing any coverings. He was convinced he'd frighten her with his scar. And he just couldn't _bear_ not to be able to see her. I was so heartbroken when I found out...I just couldn't tell him he didn't need to do it. Alison would love him as he was. He'd never accept that, of course, but one day, when Nev and I were exhausted after being part of a ritual, Ally woke up with terrible teething pains. Harry raced right to her, soothed her with a dummy and some light healing runes.

"Anyway, when I eventually dragged myself up, she was too busy giggling and trying to play with Harry's face to notice me. You see, in his haste to get to her, he'd forgotten to cast the cosmetic spells. But Alison didn't care. She didn't see him as the monster he'd convinced himself he was. His face was just funny to her, and she laughed _hysterically_ at him like he was a beautifully ugly gargoyle. And Harry _laughed back_. I'd never heard him laugh before that. Not once. Not ever.

"I cried for a full half hour after hearing it. It was the purest thing I've ever seen. And Harry fell in love with my daughter that night. I'm so lucky he did. I can't tell you how soundly I sleep knowing that someone like Harry is protecting her so fiercely in such a horrible world. He wont let anything happen to her. I'm beyond lucky. And so are you, despite all those horrors that have happened to you. Harry only ever lets Ally see him without his shawls...but now he's letting you.

"And you really don't appreciate how big a thing that is for him, Min. You honestly can't. Not yet, anyway."

"It is?" said Hermione, hastily wiping at her wet cheeks and puffy eyes. She felt so humbled she thought she might melt into the carpet.

Enola nodded. "Harry comes across as all tough and hard - which he is - but he's also incredibly vulnerable under that granite exterior of his. The scar is his biggest reminder, his coverings the permanent shield. But he's let you in beyond that. Just do something for me...be gentle with him."

"I will, I promise," said Hermione faithfully.

"And, I know what you're probably thinking," Enola went on with a wry smile. "Why am I so concerned about Harry? So close to him. Maybe I'm a bit of a threat?"

Hermione scoffed. "What gave you that idea? Your flawless face, hourglass figure and perky tits?"

Enola laughed. "You forgot sparkling intelligence and ready wit!" Hermione laughed back. Enola looked at her seriously. "Just know this - Harry and I have a closeness that goes beyond friendship, maybe beyond family. Perhaps one day he'll explain it to you. But the one thing we _aren't_ is _romantic_. Harry has eyes and a heart only for you, and I'm ridiculously in love with Neville. Its been the same since I first met him. All Harry does is for you. Whether you want him or not doesn't matter, not even to him, really. It wouldn't change him. He'd still be the same even if you did, bizarrely, love that weasel you married."

Hermione scowled, genuinely offended. "I never loved him. Not like that. Ever."

"And Harry?"

"I never let myself completely fall, but I think I've always hoped a bit for Harry. More than a friend should, you know? It just never seemed to get started. But I'd never have objected if it did."

"Then maybe now's the time to get it started," said Enola. "Merlin, I know Harry is _obsessed_ with you. Not in a stalker-type way. Well, maybe a little bit stalker-ish. But in its purest form. I've never known a man so in love. And to think you never gave it a try together...its baffling, really. What were you afraid of? Rejection?"

Hermione thought a moment. "No, not rejection. Not really. That was a worry, of course, but it was more a case of...what if... what if he actually felt the same? What would I do then? He would be a bit terrifying to have as a boyfriend. He's such a massive personality. So intense, too. But I would have been totally willing to take the risk if it was offered. That was scary in itself. I thought I was far too young to consider myself in love. And with my best friend, no less. So I suppressed that part of it. But he was so sexy on top of all that. I often dreamt of him being on top of _me_. It was ridiculously distracting. I only ever had one boy in those sorts of fantasies..."

Hermione blushed furiously. Her heart was threatening to punch its way out of her chest as she ruefully reminisced. She turned to look at Harry again. Baby Alison had woken up and Harry had sat her on the floor. He was using his wand to conjure light animals for her to chase with her chubby little hands; here a stag, then an otter, now a hippogriff. Hermione was almost dizzy from the flutterings in her chest as she watched the delightful little display. That longing smothered her again. It seemed almost indecent to desire something like this, after all she'd been through, but so right at the same time. It was as if the past five years had been nothing more than a dark pause in reality.

"Well, look at you two," said Enola, leaving Hermione to her light-headed musings and crossing to her daughter and Harry. "Room for a couple more?"

Harry snapped his head at Hermione. In the same movement he re-coiled his shawl around his head by magic. Hermione felt sorry to see his face hide behind the linen. She was growing used to his lop-sided smiles. She would miss them. So too, apparently, would little Alison. She whinnied as Harry's scar became obscured by the shawl.

"I did my best," said Harry, sadly. "Looks like nothing quite beats a mother's touch."

"That's right," Enola agreed with a grin. "But this little one just prefers her Godfather _unfettered."_

Harry shifted awkwardly. "She'll grow out of that." He turned to Hermione. "How's Susan?"

"Alive, thanks to you," Hermione replied, smiling warmly.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Harry. He seemed to struggle for words. He bothered a loose thread in the hearthrug.

"Now, I understand, from Angharad, that you've been missing for days because you were getting me a present," said Hermione, smirking. "Well? I'm waiting."

Harry chortled at her. "Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. I should tell you I was viciously maimed getting this gift for you. I hope you appreciate it."

Harry rose and opened a door just off to the left side of the nursery. Hermione looked over curiously, but only for a second. For as soon as the door opened she was under attack. The culprit was a great, bandy legged ball of bright orange fur.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione squealed, hugging the cat to her breast. "I was sure you'd be dead!"

"I have to say I agree," said Harry. "But he's got your survival spirit. He'd burrowed behind some loose boards in your basement wall. That's where I found him."

Hermione looked over, wide-eyed. "You...you went to my _house_?"

"I'm glad you didn't call it your _home," _said Harry sourly. "But yeah, I went there. I had half a mind to skin Ron if I found him. But _the Commandant_ wasn't in. Pity. Must have been overseeing more Squib torture. I hear he considers it a spectator sport these days. Still, it made recovering this little guy a bit easier."

Hermione smoothed Crookshanks behind his ears and looked at Harry shyly. "But...why _did_ you go and rescue him, Harry?"

Harry looked confused, even a little hurt. "Aren't you happy to have him back?"

"Of course I am!" Hermione squeaked quickly. "But the risk you took was phenomenal...and all for poor Crookshanks..."

Harry sighed. "I'm not afraid of Ron, Riddle or the entire Death Eater army. But, you're wrong Hermione. I didn't do it for Crookshanks...much as I like him, this was all for _you._"

Hermione had no reply. She was fitfully embarrassed, but restless at being unable to articulate her immense gratitude. She wanted to hug Harry again, to kiss him until his lips swelled up. But she was mindful of his boundaries. A muffled 'thank you' was all she could manage. Enola came to the rescue.

"I think I have a baby that needs a new nappy," she said. "Come on, Minny. Its high time you learned how to do this. It might...er...come in useful one day."

Hermione flushed crimson. Even Harry was sensible of the inference. He cocked an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Minny?"

"Oh, don't you start!" she said crossly. Harry bellowed a laugh at her, and she blushed back, and they left Harry shaking a head as both ladies left the room, one smelly baby in tow.

* * *

Neville was sharpening the Sword of Gryffindor when he felt the disturbance. He was running a notched rock along the edge of the blade when a ripple swelled through the air. His father, who had been deeply meditating nearby, flew alert in a flash. His wand was in his hand before Neville even noticed his eyelids snap open. He'd never admit it, but his father would have been a bit of a hero of his even if they hadn't been related.

He was just hard as fuck.

In less than a heartbeat, both Longbottoms were on their feet and sprinting towards the door. Neville felt his pulse quicken at his neck. A disturbance at the ward edge always meant intruders, accidental ones, usually, but if they were unfortunate supporters of Riddle they would get such a pasting that even their mothers wouldn't be able to recognise them.

Neville hoped they were some of the bad guys. Harry had started a war last week when he sliced Blaise Zabini's manhood off, and Neville was itching to get in on the action. The propaganda tool that was the _Daily Prophet_ had covered the story extensively. Inaccurately, but extensively. An unnamed, faceless fresh enemy of the New World Order. One that just happened to use Harry Potter's famous scar-shape as a calling card. It was their brand identifier.

Surely, even the oft-moronic wizarding public couldn't be so dense to not see what was _really _going on.

But then again, maybe not. Neville sighed with the realisation. When he and Harry finally saved this world, a programme of modernisation was in dire order. And deeply needed. But first things first. Scores were lined up to be settled. And Neville hoped this would be the first one.

He knew it would fall to him to deal with whatever issue had suddenly arisen. Harry had left abruptly that morning, leaving Neville in charge of the Estate. Neville couldn't begin to guess where he might have gone. Harry rarely told him such trifling details. After all, he hadn't told him he was going off to de-bollock Zabini, or to rescue Hermione's maniac cat.

Perhaps he was going for a massage with some Veela. He was immune to them after all. It would keep him pure for Hermione whilst being nice and relaxing at the same time. Neville drooled at the thought of a multi-Veela massage...

Then he slapped himself. Enola would de-bollock _him_ if she caught him thinking like that. She had never shown overt Seer ability, but Neville was cautiously convinced that his wife could read minds. Or, more specifically, read _his_. He was way too transparent, he knew that. And Occlumency was just far too hard. Harry was a Master at the old art. Neville, try as he might, just didn't have the patience for it.

He was more a fighter, and pretty pleased at his proficiency in the field. He secretly felt that, of all the wizards in the Enclave, only Harry could out-duel him. This was nothing to be ashamed of, either. Harry could out-duel _anyone._ He had beaten the top four duellers in the world in one session not so long ago. At the same time. Harry had the irritating skill of being able to not be hit. He thought and moved so fast he might as well have been on a different plane of existence. Neville couldn't wait to see the work he'd make of Tom Riddle when the time was right...

Just so long as he didn't make it _quick._

But that was Harry's job. Neville had his own, and as he reached the boundary of the Estate he quickly quietened his mind into combat mode. He focused on Enola, his stunningly beautiful wife and his perfect little daughter...he wouldn't die for them. What would be the point? He would kill for them. Ruthlessly and relentlessly. Just to enjoy one more day with them. Merlin pity the fool who dared threaten them.

Neville halted at the boundary line. His father skidded into place alongside him. Moments later the other four members of Harry's Inner Circle were ranged in a line beside them. All their wands were drawn and throbbing with anxious energy. Neville stepped forwards and cast a rune into the air. He filled it with his magic and sent it at the boundary line. When it returned he would know if it was friend or foe, encroaching on the other side of the ward, trying to get in.

_**Friend**_

The rune couldn't lie. Neville trusted it as much as he would a promise from his mother. He lowered his wand and walked forward again, crossing the boundary and leaving the estate. He was greeted by a small, squat sort of man and a skinny, shockingly frightened girl tucked under his arm. Neville frowned at them.

"You endured the repelling charms of our outer wards," said Neville bluntly. "Your commitment to whatever cause you have is concerning. State your name and purpose before I kill you for trespassing."

"Please, we mean no harm or disrespect," said the man, bowing lowly. "I seek an audience with Lord Potter."

"There is no Lord Potter here," said Neville angrily. "Leave now, or face the consequences."

"Please...I beg you," said the man. "I am Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed. This is my daughter, Branwen. We know Lord Harry Potter lives. His ascension to Lord of Avalon has activated all the old Seals of Power in Wales. The Old Kingdom is renewed. We have been waiting _centuries_ for this. We come only to pay homage."

"Say I believe you," said Neville. "What do you want?"

"Nothing more than a brief audience, to swear our allegiance to the Once and Future King, as custom dictates," said Pwyll. "If he is not home, we will wait. We consent to submit to any tests of truth and honour you wish to conduct."

Branwen, who was a young girl no older than fourteen, squeaked at her father's side. Neville frowned. He doubted she was a willing party in any of this...whatever it might be. But he was inclined to believe them.

"You will submit your wands, and any other weapons you might be carrying," said Neville. "Understand, if I find you to be lying I will cut out your heart, and your lying tongue, and feed them to you. Clear?"

"Very clear, my Lord," said Pwyll. He handed over a plain wand and a curved-tipped sceptre. His badge of office. His daughter was clean of any such affectations. Neville opened a gap in the ward and led them inside. After resealing it he turned to the other members of the Enclave

"Reinforce the ward, just in case. I'm taking these two to the palace."

"Who are they, Nev?" asked Frank Longbottom, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"The guy claims to be a local Prince. Dyfed...its one of the old counties nearby. Says Harry channelling King Arthur's spirit has reignited some sort of ancient power Seals. Harry expected something like this, I'm sure he'll know what to do. Don't worry. I'll get Fan and Ann to screen them thoroughly when I get to the house. Will you lead the reinforcement ritual? I know Harry favours O'Brien, but I'd be more comfortable with you."

"I'll do it," said Frank. "And if Patrick has a problem with it, I'll kick him right up his Irish arse."

"Dad! That's racist!"

"No, calling him a leprechaun would be racist. And heightist. And a whole host of other pseudo-crimes. But he's the least politically-correct wizard I know, so I wouldn't worry about it."

Neville chuckled. "I'll leave it with you then. Let me know when its done."

"Yes, Boss!" said Frank sardonically, as Neville turned and led Pwyll and Branwen towards the large manor house. When they reached it, he turned to them before opening the door.

"You will submit to a series of tests and scans by our two Chiefs of Security, a pair of witches called Angharad and Myfanwy," said Neville. "If you resist at all, they are under strict edict from Lord Potter himself to take your lives as swiftly as possible. Don't test them. They are highly experienced at this. Many have died in the Inspection Suite. If you are genuine, you needn't worry. If you are not...well, say any prayers, to whatever God you believe in, before I open the doors."

Pwyll gulped, Branwen whimpered and clutched at her father. Neville took their silence as compliance and stroked his finger along the centre parting of the large oak doors. They faded away slowly. Neville led the way inside and pointed to a small antechamber off to the right of the main courtyard. Pwyll and Branwen were herded inside just as Angharad and Myfanwy Apparated next to Neville and stalked purposefully into the room, wands drawn and pulsing...

* * *

Hermione was beside herself with fury, incandescent with rage. She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Poor Neville, who had endured a good five minutes of her tirade, was cowering away finally.

"You let them _across the ward_ without any sort of checks?!" Hermione cried in angry disbelief.

"I trusted them," said Neville, meekly. "Besides, the girls have screened them. They are harmless."

"But they could have been carrying _anything!"_ Hermione went on furiously. "Tracking charms, detection enchantments, fucking Muggle BOMBS! Are you actually insane?"

Neville mumbled something that sounded like_ bididyboodily. _Behind him, Enola was shaking with laughter. Hermione scowled at her.

"_I _don't think this is funny!" Hermione shrieked. She wished she could stomp around to emphasis her roiling frustration, but her hips were still being treacherous to her. So she just pinned her hands to them angrily instead. "It's an unacceptable security breech! I'm sure Harry will agree. Why are you _still _laughing?"

Enola wiped her eyes. "Oh...I'm sorry, Hermione. You're quite right. And I completely agree with you. Neville, what were you _thinking, _honey? Take your telling off like a man. But Min...its just that...you're so _fierce_! You are so Harry's perfect queen, I can't tell you."

Hermione went to argue but her head spun and her words caught. She had to stop being embarrassed like this. Real Queens didn't get so flustered at the mere mention of their Kings...

"And I can just imagine how _hot_ Harry would find this," Enola continued. "He'd probably have to go and hide in a corner to beat one off."

"And there was me trying to be discreet. I _have_ to work on my Silencing Charms!"

Assorted gasps and cries filled the air. It was Hermione who regained her senses first.

"Harry! How long have you been hiding there?"

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry, throwing off his Invisibility Cloak and striding into the centre of the room. "I was just enjoying the show. And, for the record, Ennie was _quite right..._about everything. Hotter than a nuclear reactor. But Nev...what the actual fuck, mate? Letting strangers into our little haven so easily?"

"They are quite safe, Harry," said Neville, sheepishly. "Fan and Ann have vetted them and we've reinforced the wards."

"I know, I felt like I was being squeezed through a sausage machine when I came back in," said Harry, crossly. "Your Dad did a good job. I think he was showing off."

Neville grinned. "Sorry, Harry."

"Don't worry. Just try to inspect newcomers _outside_ our little shields, okay? Hermione is totally correct in what she said."

"Sorry, Lady Potter," said Neville, grinning slyly at her. Hermione blushed madly.

"Shut up, LongBum," Harry teased. "Now - where are our guests?"

"The Reception Room on the second floor...recuperating," said Neville. "Fanny was a bit...vigorous with her testing."

Harry frowned. "She's been a bit like that lately. It's coming up to Alwyn's anniversary, isn't it? I'll have a chat with her later, see if she needs to talk about it. In the meantime, I'd better go and meet this Prince. Um..._Queen_...would you care to join me?"

Harry looked pointedly at Hermione, who was now so flushed she looked close to having a stroke.

"I'd better not," said Hermione. "I'm not sure I can walk all that way without support. I wouldn't want to slow you up."

"I have a pretty sturdy shoulder just begging for employment," said Harry, offering his arm. "Come on, I'd really appreciate your eyes on whoever these strange folk are downstairs."

Harry looked at Hermione warmly. She melted under his gaze. It was hypnotic. There was no way she could refuse him. She limped the short few steps to close the space between them and practically fell into his arms. She tensed, sure he would flinch from her invading his space. But, on the contrary, he hoisted her arm around his neck, slid his around her dainty waist and guided her from the room. They didn't leave each others gaze the entire time. Neville turned to Enola as soon as they were gone.

"I hope when they fuck I am away from the house. The air is practically sub-Saharan in here over just one embrace!"

"I know," Enola agreed. "I've already told Minny to give me a heads up. It will set the place on fire!"

Harry helped Hermione slowly down the main staircase of the house. He moved gently, wary of her injuries, but he was in no rush. She was pinned to his side, her breath warm against his neck. He was in no hurry to break this position. She seemed equally as content. She was in acute discomfort; Harry could feel that physically. But she was also grinning, inside and out. It made Harry's own insides do the sorts of flips and turns that grown men shouldn't be partial to.

But Harry loved each and every one.

He pulled Hermione closer with almost imperceptible movements. She smelled like apricots and daisies. He wished he could feel her skin. Her face was close to his, but she was purposely holding her head in place away from his scarf-covered cheek, mindful of his own tender injuries. A few times she made to place her head on his shoulder, but seemed to lose courage at the last second. Harry winced at the discomfort.

This was so alien for them both, he was sensible of that. For his own part, he didn't share his personal space with anyone but Neville's daughter. And even that would diminish as she got older. Neville only placed hands on him during ritual. Enola healed with magic but never touched him. Harry's aura was a shield, his own unpowered ward. Nobody crossed that boundary.

But here was Hermione, invading his space. Harry submitted to the intrusion willingly, urging his invisible ward to cover her, too. For she was also in need of healing, and as vulnerable as he. Touch had become something to recoil from; the tortures she'd endured had conditioned her mind to automatically decide that physical contact was bound to hurt. Harry was pointedly aware of these particular scars. Hermione was suffering with intense residual pain in her body, and Harry knew he was crossing fortified defensive lines with her emotionally, too.

But then they'd always been comfortable with a level of physical intimacy that was unusual between friends. It may have been five years, but that aspect of their relationship appeared unchanged. Despite all the myriad of negative things that both had endured in that time. Still, nevertheless, Harry was cautious.

"Is this...okay?" he asked quietly.

"It's more than okay," Hermione whispered back. She seemed to realise his concerns, and moved to dispel them quickly by curling in closer without any pretence that she meant to do anything else. "I've not felt as safe and protected, as I do when I'm around you, in the longest time. And being in your arms...I could stay here forever and be happier for it."

Harry's mind whirled at that. His skin positively crackled with electricity. Words failed him again. He reflected her happiness but found it near impossible to tell her so. He realised this walk had been as much for him as it had for her. To test the waters, the boundaries. Well, it was fair to say that the latter had been smashed to pieces.

"I'm sorry if that sounded a bit forward," said Hermione, quickly. "But we've lost out on so much time already. I don't see the point in pretending...if we're both on the same page?"

It was a cautious question, one Harry was too afraid to answer right away. He would have rather faced a room full of Riddle's with no wand than look at Hermione right now. The promise was almost too much to hope for. But he knew he had to reply. Hermione never was one for lingering silences.

"I know what page _I'm_ on," Harry said quietly. "I've been on it for years. But you've been through such a terrible ordeal...I can't wrap my head around how much you must have suffered. I might never forgive myself for not acting sooner. You'd have to accept that...if you ever joined me on _that page_. But I have no expectation of that. You need so much fixing, I know. I can feel it. I'll spend my life helping you do that, without hoping for anything else."

Hermione huffed. "Harry - you can be so dense sometimes. Chivalrous to the point of frustration. Haven't you ever considered what I might want? Hasn't it occurred to you that I might want the same thing you want, and that it might actually _help_ in _fixing me_, as you put it?"

"No. I mean - how could you? I left you to -"

"If you blame yourself for that _one more time_ I'm going to hex you silent for a month," said Hermione curtly. "Enough of the self-loathing, okay? Ron hurt me, Riddle and his New World Order hurt me, _you_ never did. But you're going to revenge for me, right the world for me. Win..._for me_. And the first victory is going to be against yourself. Today. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry grinned.

"And as for my being so damaged, to be so severely wounded that I've forgotten the joys of love and sex and all the rest of it, as Ennie is convinced I am, let me just educate you on that. I'm not some precious little flower, you know. I was at your side for _seven years. _I picked up a few things. I survived, I endured. I stayed sane and never lost hope. And do you know how?"

"How?"

"By hoping for _you,_" said Hermione softly. "By believing in _you_. Every year...on the anniversary of...of -," she stumbled at the words. "...I held a party. I hoped you'd come. As a ghost, as a reincarnation, anything. It gave me courage to stay alive. Part of me always knew you weren't really gone. I could _feel_ it, though I could never describe it. I never gave up on you. Sue thought I was mental - but I kept on believing. And now I'm rewarded. Not only with your life...but with...whatever _this_ might be. What it could be. What I _hope_ it will be."

"It'll be whatever you want," said Harry. His voice was on the verge of cracking.

"No...it'll be whatever _we_ want it to be," said Hermione, turning to him. "We've waited long enough to come to this conclusion without worrying about anyone else. You want something, I want something. And I'm rather keen to believe its the same thing."

Harry looked at her so fiercely Hermione was taken aback, her breath shuddered at the intensity of the scrutiny she was suddenly under. His one eye darted between her two, hunting for any sign of deception or dishonesty. There was none, but he continued to study her deeply, unable to easily accept this simple truth. Hermione waited for him. She knew she had to be patient. Slowly, in a moment she saw arrive with juddering force, as the meaning in his eye shifted fundamentally, he allowed himself to believe, if only a little. Hermione knew it was too much to expect a complete acceptance right away, but even this little alteration was earth-shattering for him.

It made the walls of the hallway glow with brilliant light for several seconds.

"Okay," Harry said after a moment. He smiled at her, a wonky, dopey, punch-drunk grin at the mouth-gap in his shawls. Hermione couldn't think of anything more beautiful in that moment. She tucked back into his side, saying nothing. Both were silent, letting their shared understanding settle on them as they headed for the Reception Room. They'd long negated the need for words to communicate between each other. Hermione realised just how much she'd missed that about their connection.

They entered the Reception Room together. It was a well-furnished room, with tapestries and paintings and comfortable sofas flanking the walls. On one of these sofas sat the two visitors. They looked flustered and flushed, as if they'd just stepped in from a gale. Hermione couldn't help but glance out of one of the large windows. It was a calm, sunny day outside.

What _had_ Myfanwy put them through?

Hermione had little time to consider that. The short, middle-aged man had risen from the sofa as Harry approached. He hauled the bedraggled girl next to him to her feet, too. The poor thing looked petrified. She was actually trembling as she was dragged forwards and pulled into a bow at Harry's feet.

Harry considered the strangers carefully. The man was a simpering sort, the girl nothing more than a bundle of nerves.

"Arise, Prince Puth," said Harry. "You must forgive my pronunciation...its all those consonants, you see."

"There is nothing to forgive, my Lord," said Pwyll, standing.

"Why are you here?" asked Hermione, limping to Harry's side.

Pwyll eyed her warily. Harry scowled. "The Lady asked you a question. Answer it."

Pwyll gulped. "Forgive me. I am Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, and I come to swear fealty to the Once and Future King, our Lord of Avalon. We offer our lives and lands into your service. As tradition dictates, we come with a gift to honour our oath." Pwyll prodded his terrified daughter forwards. "May I present my eldest daughter, Branwen. I humbly offer her as a potential bride to the Lord of Avalon, and pray you favour us with your consideration of my daughter as a suitable match."

Hermione actually gasped. Harry seethed with bubbling rage. Poor Branwen was simply white with fear. It was no wonder she was so afraid, if that was the reason she'd been dragged here. Harry felt so sincerely sorry for this girl's anguish. He breathed steadily to master his rage, to bring his swirling sea of emotions under his sway, as they skimmed the surface of his control enchantments.

"Step forward, Princess Branwen."

The girl did as she was told, stumbling nervously over the hem of her dress until she was barely a foot away from Harry. She was a wiry, slight little thing. Harry wanted to wrap her in cotton wool in case she broke. Branwen made to bow, but Harry reached out and tucked a hand gently under her chin, easing her head up.

"A Princess never bows," said Harry softly. He knelt down and was nearly as tall as her, even though he was on his knees. "Always hold your head high. Now, tell me, Princess, do you believe in love?"

Branwen gave a tiny, nervous nod.

"And do you hope to marry some day?"

She nodded again, but it was so cautious Harry almost missed it.

"And do you intend to marry for love?" Harry pressed.

Branwen cast a swift glance at her father. Harry seethed again, and ground his jaw.

"Don't look at _him. _I asked the question," said Harry firmly, making it clear his ire wasn't intended for Branwen Then he cast a very different look at Pwyll, who paled in the face of it. "Now, do you intend to marry for love?"

Branwen nodded again, though much more vigorously than before.

Harry smiled at her. "So do I. Which is why I'm going to have to respectfully decline this offer of marriage to you. This is no slight against you, Princess. And I hope that I don't hurt your feelings or your honour in refusing you. But, you see, I'm already in love with someone else. And I would only be a true and proper husband to_ her_. And her alone. I hope you can understand that, and accept this rejection as best you can."

For the first time, Princess Branwen smiled. The relief which flooded her was palpable. Her eyes relaxed and colour suffused her skin. She was actually quite cute, when she wasn't so inconsolably terrified.

"I take no offence, Lord Potter," she said timidly. "And I thank you for your honesty."

Harry smiled back at her. "_Only_ marry for love, Branwen. It is the only reason you will ever need."

"I will, my Lord."

Harry smiled at her and stood again. He turned to Pwyll, his smile turning to a growling grimace. "As for you, I want you to take a message back to the other Princes of the Old Kingdom - the next man who comes here with the intention of _pimping_ their daughters to me will be garotted on sight...by me personally."

Pwyll quailed under the ferocity of Harry's one-eyed stare. He backed away from him.

Then Hermione limped forwards and addressed the Prince. "You said you had a gift for us," she said. She flashed a quick, questioning look at Harry, who beamed back with a racing heart and a small, encouraging nod. "I assume it wasn't this beautiful little girl of yours, as you proffered her up like a sacrificial offering. So, what was it?"

Pwyll looked at Hermione, and respect followed understanding in his eyes as he looked between her and Harry. He realised his error immediately and was keen to atone.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he simpered. "But we do have a gift. My daughter is carrying it. Branwen..."

The girl, who was looking more comfortable by the minute, reached into a pocket of her dress and drew out a small mahogany box.

And the atmosphere of the room changed in a instant.

It was as if someone had poured poison into the air. It thickened and congealed with it. Harry shot forwards and positioned himself instinctively between Hermione and the box. Branwen was holding it out like it might explode at any moment. Harry gathered himself, letting the initial burst of shock pass. He mastered his concern and drew his wand, casting it over the box. Then he shot a dangerous look at Pwyll.

"What is this?" he hissed lowly. "What evil have you brought to my sanctuary?"

"Just knowledge, my Lord," said Pwyll.

"This box is _drenched_ in Dark Magic," Harry went on. "What is it?"

"Evidence of just how far Lord Voldemort has gone to pervert life itself," said Pwyll. Harry's attention piqued. "Inside is an object, and trapped within it is a soul fragment."

"A Horcrux?" Hermione breathed. "Harry...be careful. A piece of Voldemort is in there!"

"No...no it isn't," said Harry quietly. He cast a series of diagnostic runes at the box, cast so fast his wand was a mere blur. "There's a Horcrux in there all right, but somethings not right."

"How so?"

"It has his signature, I can feel that," said Harry, taking the box in his free hand. "But I also know what that Dark bastards' soul feels like. We both do. This isn't part of it."

Harry conjured a containment ward around himself, ignoring Hermione's cries of objection, then continued with his casting, silencing his mind swiftly and delving into the deep, dark layers of the magical item before him. Then Harry grabbed his throat as he began to understand. He blinked as he came out of his casting trance. He looked at Pwyll, his eye wide and angry.

"Made..._by_ him...but not _from_ him?"

Pwyll nodded.

"Harry...I'm not sure I follow," said Hermione. She didn't like being slow on the uptake.

"Hermione...it makes perfect sense...how could I be so fucking stupid not to see..." said Harry, clapping a hand to his forehead. He sat down, shaking.

"See what?" Hermione pushed. She hobbled to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn't shrug her off. She knew he wouldn't. He welcomed her support.

"Hermione, we suspect that Riddle went through with his plan to split his soul in seven pieces," said Harry. "We can chalk off six of the Horcruxes he made - ring, diary, locket, diadem, goblet, snake - then there's whatever is left in Tom, himself. But we are working on the assumption that he actually made a seventh Horcrux after he regained his body. It was his life's work. It made sense that he'd finish it first chance he got."

"But didn't Dumbledore always say he needed a significant death for Horcrux creation?" asked Hermione. "Who did he kill that was prominent enough?"

"We reckon it was Grindelwald," said Harry flatly, still rubbing his temples.

"Okay," said Hermione, processing that slowly. "So that's where you keep disappearing to all the time. Trying to find the seventh Horcrux?"

"Precisely. I'll never get anything past you, will I?"

"No, and don't think I'm ignoring the fact that you do this _by yourself_," she said crossly. "I'm just letting it slide for now. But I'm going to severely tell you off for that later. But why is this a problem? The seventh Horcrux is in that box. Just destroy it."

Harry looked at her and sighed. "That's the point...its a Horcrux...but not _the Horcrux_."

"I'm confused."

"Tom knew that we threatened him before by taking out the other six of his Horcruxes," Harry explained. "He can't let anyone get so close again. So we can guess that his last one is under massive protection. That's why its proving so hard to find. There's no point in going for him, if he can be resurrected every time using the last Horcrux. He daren't make any more. So he's created decoys, fakes, but he's carried out the ritual of Horcrux creation...only he's used _other people's_ souls to fill them, but made them look like they are _his_."

Hermione let out a shocked gasp. "Made by him...but not from him. My God Harry! That could mean..."

"That there are dozens of decoys out there...hundreds maybe," said Harry. "He might have made every one of his subjects submit. Even Ron might have had his soul spilt. I can't tell you how much I'm starting to hate him, you know."

"But Harry...that would mean that none of them could be killed without destroying the Horcrux related to them! It would make them unbeatable."

Harry sighed heavily. "I know, Hermione. I know."

"For fucks sake!" she cried angrily. Hot, furious tears spilt from her eyes.

Pwyll coughed nearby. "You aren't alone in this fight, my Lord. You have allies everywhere. They will rally to your banner."

"And I will call on that support when the time is right," said Harry. "Thank you, Prince of Dyfed. You should leave now. I will take the Horcrux into ritual, understand and then destroy it." Harry turned to Hermione. "How's your strength? I might have to borrow your power for this. Its been a long time since I faced a Horcrux. I need you."

"I'm right here with you," said Hermione staunchly. She dried her eyes and set her shoulders. "Come on, lets kick the living fuck out of this thing."

Harry grinned. He hated Tom Riddle fiercely as he stood up. Not for all his catalogue of crimes, but for simply slashing his lips in half, for he wanted nothing more than to plant them on Hermione's at that moment. He would make that snake-raping son of a bitch pay for that one day.


	6. Night Terrors

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Hermione was equal parts excited and nervous. She had never seen ritual magic performed before, and the promise of being part of such a first experience wasn't without its daunting elements. Harry had told her he needed her, and she was desperate to be good enough. Ritual magic was a big thing for him, she so wanted to be a part of it, too. But the niggling doubts lingered.

What if her power wasn't enough for him, or of the wrong sort? What if their combined magics didn't mesh? That might speak volumes for their compatibility in other ways. She quickly dispelled this particular fear as complete nonsense. They were nothing if not compatible, but what if she'd been tainted by all the secret curses Ron had cast on her? She didn't want to contaminate the ritual by bringing some hidden darkness to bear on the proceedings.

And Ron's lingering impact only furthered her concerns.

She'd been so brow beaten by him over the years that her confidence was on the floor. She could almost hear his voice in her head, telling her she wouldn't be good enough, or that Harry would realise his mistake in rescuing her, see she was worthless and send her packing within the hour. He'd move some pretty new witch into the beautiful bedroom suite she now covetously called her own, while she was left to fend for herself in the dark world outside the ward shields of the Blue Palace.

She swallowed hard at the thought, but pushed herself to stop being so negative. _He asked for you, didn't he?_ she thought to herself. He had. And so earnestly, too. As though he were singularly eager to share this form of magic with her. The thought cheered her, but only briefly. She knew Harry had always thought highly of her talents. She was even shyly allowing the notions that he valued and respected her above all others into her waking mind. That took some accepting.

But it didn't make her automatically good enough to be a serious part of this key element in his life.

It was with these troubling thoughts racing through her brain that she followed Harry into the bowels of the palace towards the Ritual Chamber. He'd summoned Rhian, who had assembled the other wizards of his inner circle. All six were waiting for them as they arrived. Neville and his father were there, but Hermione didn't know the others. They all looked curiously at her as the two parties met.

"Are we letting an outsider be part of this rite?" asked one of the wizards, a tall, tawny haired man. "That's a risk."

Harry frowned. "This is my closest and best friend," he said firmly. "She is neither an outsider nor a risk. I would trust her with my life. In any case, we are about to face a Horcrux and I feel eminently safer with her at my side as we do it. She is more experienced at dealing with this particular sort of evil than any of you."

Hermione blushed hotly and turned her eyes to the floor, masking a girlish grin that swept her face. Her earlier doubts had been obliterated by Harry's fierce defence of her. She so wished he would let her kiss him. Then again, she might not let go if he did. And death by kissing just wouldn't do.

The wizard who had spoken cowered back. "Forgive me, my Lord. I was just preaching caution."

"And you go right on doing that, Sir David," said Harry. "I rely on you to check me. However, this young lady will be joining us in this ritual. For those who don't know, this is Hermione We -"

"Granger," Hermione corrected quickly. She scowled at Harry in a semi-playful manner. "Please don't use that insult against me again, Harry."

Harry smirked lightly. "Forgive me, Miss _Granger_. Let me introduce the wizards who make up my inner circle - trusted men with whom I share power to achieve the aims of ritual. You've met Neville, of course, and that thinning haired clone next to him is his father."

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Granger," said Frank Longbottom, proffering a hand. "Neville and Harry have told us all about you."

"All good, I promise," said Neville, grinning.

"Right," said Harry. "Sir David Pincott is my paranoid friend to the left, then we have Patrick O'Brien, Lord Angus Kelvin - fourth Marquess of Ayr - and Owain Glyndwr Jones, who is distantly related to the last King of Wales. How far in line to the throne are you, I forget?"

"Thirty-seventh," said Owain, somewhat pompously. "I'm still considering a legal challenge to that. Especially after Anthony Hopkins had his son anointed. That put him into twenty-second and knocked me down a spot. I tell you, just because he's a big name in Hollywood..."

"I hear he's an accomplished wizard," said Patrick O'Brien, his Irish accent thick and lyrical. "He developed a potion to help adopt personality traits and combined it with a form of Legilimency. Fascinating stuff."

"Maybe that explains why his Hannibal Lecter was so freaky," Hermione mused. "Don't you have a title, Mr O'Brien?"

The Irish wizard laughed. "Not as such. But I am the living incumbent clan leader of the Tuatha De Danann. Makes me the most powerful wizard in Ireland."

"Even if he does say so himself," Harry returned, his eye flashing with mirth. "Right. That's the introductions out the way. Let's get this started."

"What is _this,_ exactly?" asked Frank, as Sir David opened the ritual chamber and they all followed him inside.

"The visitor we had was the current Prince of Dyfed," Harry began. "He brought me the object in the box as a declaration of his fealty to me. Its dark as hell, as I'm sure you can all feel."

Harry placed the box on the plinth at the heart of the raised ritual circle and the other members of his Enclave filed past it, assessing the thing.

"_Riddled_ with Dark Magic, you might say," Angus Kelvin offered in his Highland Scotch brogue, when his turn came.

"Quite," said Harry, his lips curving in a grimace.

"But what is it, Harry?" asked Frank. "You said it was a Horcrux. I'm assuming its not _the_ Horcrux or you'd be running around like a man possessed."

"No, it isn't Tom Riddle's last Horcrux," Harry confirmed. "However, this was made by him. That dark bastard has a magical signature that's quite distinctive. I can feel it. It's like having rotten, fly-ridden, hairy dragon shit in your mouth and not being allowed to spit or swallow. I don't recommend it."

"What do you mean by _made_ _by him_?" Neville queried, holding the box and examining it. "How can that be, if it isn't his own?"

"Pwyll of Dyfed said Riddle used other people, split their souls and trapped them inside objects," Harry explained. "His magical signature is so strong they would feel like his own Horcruxes. Well, to anyone but me, because I know the difference. I was intimate with that twat for a long time."

"Fuck me," Neville exclaimed. "I didn't think that was even possible."

"Tom may be a cunt, but he's still quite brilliant," said Harry. "It does mean, however, that there could be any number of these decoys out there. Our task just got a little more complicated, gentlemen."

"And lady," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She returned the stares she received resolutely. "What? You better believe I'm going to be part of this. I have as much reason to hate Riddle and his New World Order as any of you. More, perhaps. I may not be ready just yet, but I'm going to be as big a part of this resistance as I can be."

Sir David Pincott smiled at her. "I take it back, Miss Granger. You are most welcome here!"

"Flirt with her again, David, and I'll cut your willy off and post it to your wife!" Harry admonished, amused. Sir David grinned in return, but backed away with his hands raised in a gesture of peace just the same.

Hermione stepped close to Harry. She whispered to him playfully. "Was that a touch of jealousy I detected?"

"Rabidly so," said Harry, his eye flashing between hers.

"_You_ being jealous..._over me_...that may be just the weirdest thing I've ever seen...not to mention the absolute cutest."

"Don't tell anyone. I have an air of mystique to uphold."

Hermione laughed. It was the final tonic to finally bury all her earlier worries. Harry moved to the centre of the room and she went with him, as if it were her right. The other members of Harry's Enclave conceded to her in like fashion. They parted for them with courteous bows. That stirred wild beatings in her chest for some unfathomable reason. It made her feel unspeakably close to Harry suddenly, as though she'd crossed some invisible boundary of intimacy.

It was a boundary she had no intention of leaving.

The Enclave took up places around the edge of the ritual circle and draw their wands. They began muttering lowly and for a moment Hermione was confused, until she realised they weren't muttering at all - they were _chanting_. Their words were too low for Hermione to make out and, in any case, she got the distinct impression they weren't speaking English. Slowly, the chanting grew louder and louder, until they were all in sync like a well-practiced chorus. Then, each wizard raised his wand and shot out a glowing beam of light, which all met at the apex above the plinth at the circle's center.

And the effect was instant. The room became suffused with power, a field of intense magical energy unlike anything Hermione had ever experienced. It heaved and throbbed around them like a turbulent sea, igniting runes and alchemical symbols carved into the floor. They flashed in multi-colour and vibrated with a power all of their own, joining with the swell of energy already swirling fiercely around them. Hermione felt it physically in her body. It was akin to standing next to a giant speaker at a concert and having its vibrations pierce you. She was a little afraid of it, and grabbed Harry's arm on reflex.

"Its alright," he whispered soothingly to her. "You're quite safe. You have to know I wont let anything hurt you ever again?"

"I trust you, Harry."

"Then join with me," said Harry. "This is an induction ritual to join my Circle. You need to add your magic to it. The others wont work with you if they don't feel your honesty and intent."

"What do I do?"

"Let me guide you," said Harry. "I need you to relax your mind and your magic. You'll feel me trying to get in. If you trust me, don't fight it. Just give to it. Then I'll draw a bit of your magic to add to the circle. You'll feel the magic of the others when you join, but I'll keep them from getting too close. I don't want to share you, Hermione. Not with anyone."

"I don't want to be shared. I'm yours," she smiled back. She took a steadying breath. "And I'm ready."

It was a strange sensation. She felt Harry's hand on hers, then she felt his mind on hers. The feelings were strikingly similar. She would know his soft touch anywhere, the contours of his fingers, the splay of his palm. His mind felt the same. But as it touched her own she gasped. It was intrusive and intimate. He might as well have shoved his hand down her knickers. This sensation was quite as pleasant as she imagined _that_ bold move would be. She didn't resist it at all.

And then his entire being was all over her, cradling her inside her body and coating her without. It was like being inside a cocoon of Harry's essence. And it was so full of affection, so bubbling over with love for her that she lost her breath as she tried to absorb it. She never wanted him to go away. She was in absolute bliss and felt, for the first time in her life, so completely and purely loved that she was having difficulty processing it. It was just that intense. It was beyond description and it left her a little senseless.

She barely noticed her magic being pulled like a stand of stray hair. Harry effortlessly blended it with his own and added it to the others. The room lit up on all sides. Then Harry stepped away, taking his essence from Hermione. The room seemed immeasurably colder as he went and, with a sharp pang, she felt suddenly lost and alone. She wanted Harry back with her, _inside her_, or whatever that had been. He belonged there. She would have to tell him off later for not sharing this experience with her sooner.

But Harry was set to task now, single focused on the decoy Horcrux. He flicked open the box. Inside was a small, ruby-red amulet trimmed with copper wire crafted into a Celtic design. It looked fragile. Harry lifted it out and turned it with his wand, examining it.

"Be careful, Harry!" Hermione hissed. "Horcruxes have defence mechanisms built in."

Harry nodded at her. "Patrick - the basilisk venom."

O'Brien drew a vial from his cloak and tossed it to Harry, who caught it deftly. He then turned to Hermione. "You might want to stand back."

"I might. But I don't," said Hermione firmly. "And I wont, either."

Harry shrugged at her unflinching stance, uncorked the vial of venom and poured it over the amulet as he placed it on the floor. It fizzled and hissed as the venom melted it. Two figures emerged from the pale smoke as it swirled into shapes. They began to play out a scene before them. One was Tom Riddle, eyes red in his slits-for-sockets. His wand was drawn and aimed at a figure bent to her knees before him. Her face was slashed and gashed with multiple wounds. Hermione let out an anguished cry when she saw who it was.

"Professor McGonagall!" she breathed dully.

The smoky image of the former Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress turned to them. The tracks of wispy blood cut runnels through her grimy skin. Her face pleaded for assistance. Harry was roiling with fury, Hermione could see it in his eye. But he was intently focused on pulling as much of the swirling magical energy to him as he could. He was giving off visceral waves of power, as if he were using the others' magic to supercharge himself.

Voldemort was talking. Casting a complex spell with his wand and words. The Horcrux-McGonagall smiled an empty, dejected, hollow smile. She looked so beaten, she was almost welcoming the inevitable. And Voldemort obliged. His wand shot out a beam of thin light. It hit McGonagall in the throat and began to slice. It was jagged, rough and the smoky blood shooting from the severing cut was astonishing. The cry which issued forth from McGonagall's mouth was the sort of pained, terrified shriek Hermione would never have thought her once-favourite teacher capable of emitting. She was too strong for such a thing. Hermione flung her hands to her ears to block the sound, but the putrid sickness bubbling in her belly was harder to quell.

It was a protracted minute before the head was severed. It rolled over to Harry who jumped back to avoid it. McGonagall's empty, desperate eyes looked up to him.

"Please...help me, mister Potter!" she begged.

And Harry's anger snapped like a clap of violent thunder. He cast three complicated runes into the air, cast them so fast Hermione did a double take. Then he infused each one with the combined power drawn from the circle. The intensity was so great the energy made Hermione's hair stand on end, static-electric like. Then Harry sent the runes speeding towards the smoky form of Voldemort, who was moving towards them.

They trapped him as if in a cage, and Harry advanced furiously on him, wand drawn and drumming with his power. He pushed the runes tighter together, squeezing and compressing the prisoner within. Voldemort struggled uselessly against them. He was no match for Harry's rage, his powerful intent. Hermione felt it sweep over her time and again as Harry's magic pulsed around the circle like a storm. And she suddenly knew _exactly _what Enola had meant.

Harry was truly terrifying in this state.

His power was unmatched. It was feral, wild. This was a domain in which he dominated. Nothing could beat him here, and poor Tom Riddle was feeble opposition. Hermione felt that excitement stir again, the one she'd felt on that first night, when Lily the phoenix had rescued her from Malfoy. Harry in this mode was so powerful it was intoxicating. Neville hadn't hoped Harry would beat Riddle...he _knew_ he would. He'd seen this side of Harry, he knew its ferocity.

But she doubted if Neville knew how insanely _sexy _this was. She wanted to tear Harry's clothes off and have him take her right then, their audience be damned. There was something about his magic, an undertone she couldn't quite pinpoint. But it was pure sex. It made her instantly aroused and her knees went weak with the potency of it. She wondered if the other girls knew about this. They'd hinted at Harry's sexual prowess, she wondered if they actually meant _this_. Well, there was one thing for absolute sure.

She wouldn't share this with any of those bitches again. This was hers, she _owned_ it. Or, she very soon would.

Then there was a snap of energy and Harry angrily pushed the last of his collected magic at Voldemort. The runes closed together and the spirit of Voldemort was crushed into a thousand wisps of smoke, which drifted harmlessly into the air. Harry sank to his knees, exhausted with the effort it would seem. The ghostly figure of Minerva McGonagall rose, head and all, from the smoke. She knelt down next to Harry and smiled.

"Thank you, Potter," she said, her voice echoey and ethereal. "It feels wonderful to be free...and _whole_ again."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry stuttered. "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, to save you. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, mister Potter," said McGonagall gently. "You are too harsh on yourself. Love yourself a little or," she glanced warmly at Hermione, who had also crouched down at Harry's side, "let someone else do the loving for you, if you are unable. I have to go...I'm being _called_."

"Professor," said Harry quickly, his voice broken. "Tell my mother I love her."

McGonagall smiled warmly. "She already knows that, Harry. Farewell."

And with that she, too, dissipated into the ether. Harry slumped to the ground with a thud, curled up and groaning in pain. Neville raced up urgently. Hermione was suddenly worried...this obviously wasn't normal.

"Harry! Talk to me! What have you done?" Neville cried as he reached them. There was a trace of anger in his voice. He cradled Harry, who's eye was rolling blankly back into his head.

"Nev, what's happening?" asked Hermione, her worry growing in the face of Neville's desperation.

"Harry's going into shock," said Neville quickly. He drew his wand and cast rune after rune into Harry chest, trying to heal him. "Stay with me, brother."

"What's going on, son?" asked Frank, coming up and pulling Harry's shawl off, as he was in danger of swallowing it. His scar was pulsing with angry energy and had turned a deep shade of bruised purple. It had opened up and was dripping with pus and blood. It smelled awful. Hermione would have pinched her nose but she was now in full on panic mode.

"I don't know," said Neville, still rune casting. "It's like he's been hit with a ton of bricks. His body is mangled inside. I can't explain it. Its almost as if he's taken years of abuse in the space of a few minutes. His body has been overloaded by it. I don't know if he can take it. We need Enola. Right now. Hurry, I cant hold him on my own."

Patrick O'Brien had left the room before Neville had even finished speaking. Hermione's heart was thudding in her chest, her fear paralysing.

"We wont..._l-lose_ him...will we?" Hermione couldn't even hold the notion steady in her frenzied mind.

"We will if Enola can't stabilise him," said Neville bluntly. "I just don't understand how..."

Then his eyes settled firmly on Hermione. She felt like she was being x-rayed.

"Hermione...how do you feel?" he asked slowly.

"I'm having a full on panic attack!" she cried. "I can't breathe, my pulse is running so fast I might pass out, and I can't help him! How do you bloody think I feel?"

"I mean your body?" Neville pushed. "Your aches and pains? How are they."

What a question to ask at such a time! Hermione was about to say the worry was making her agony ten times worse...then she noticed it wasn't. In fact, aside from the fear, she felt like a million Galleons. She had not one bit of pain, anywhere. That throb at her hips was gone, the dull ache in her stomach was no longer there, and she felt light and lithe. Neville had his answer in her expression.

"For fucks sake, Harry!" he yelled. "How was I so fucking dumb not to see! Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!"

"See what?" asked Hermione.

"Harry has been keen to get you into ritual for ages, to try and help with your recovery and healing," said Neville. "But it takes months to prepare for something like that. Its a massively draining experience, not to mention the intimacy parts of it. You were not up for it physically. It would have set you back who knows how long in your recovery. Why did I not question it when he brought you here today? Damn it."

"I'm still confused," said Hermione. "What has Harry done?"

"Harry's used the ritual to draw all your physical wounds into himself," said Neville. "In _one go_. To stop your suffering, he's taken it into himself. But its obviously worse than he knew, or you let on. I should have known he'd try something like this."

"Nev, this isn't your fault," said Frank, looming above them with a look of concern.

"I've gotten so swept up in the great mood about the place I've stopped being diligent," said Neville. "I've slacked off."

"Then this is my fault," said Hermione, with a shock of horror. "If I'd never come..."

"Then Harry would have never experienced happiness again and that is all sorts of wrong," said Neville quickly. "You coming here is the _best_ thing to have happened to him. I know he thinks so. Merlin! This is just so _typical_ of him. Chivalrous prick. I'm going to _end_ him when he wakes up."

The door to the chamber was suddenly flung open. Enola was actually running across the space to them

"Everyone out, except for Nev and Hermione," she commanded forcefully, sitting and pulling Harry's head into her lap. The others obeyed her without question, leaving the three of them alone with Harry. Enola rolled up her sleeves and her whitewood wand was in her hand, thrumming with her magic. She looked utterly determined. She passed her wand over Harry's body, up and down like a probe. She closed her eyes and incanted silently.

"His body is smashed," she breathed in assessment. "Broken bones, ruptured organs. These were your injuries, Min."

"Yes," Hermione replied, sadly. Her voice was tiny and she felt ashamed for herself. Neville threw a consoling arm around her. She turned into his embrace and let herself cry on his shoulder in self pity.

"You poor thing!" Enola whispered consolingly. "The things you must have endured..."

"Enough of that," said Hermione, angrily wiping at her tears. "Focus on Harry."

"I am," said Enola. "Harry has to fight his way out of the darkness you lived in for so long. You don't need telling how hard a fight that will be for him."

"What do you mean '_fight his way out_'?" asked Neville.

"I can't explain it fully to you, honey," said Enola gently. "It's between Harry and I. He wouldn't be happy with me to go into too much detail about it. Just know, he compartmentalises his own pain and suffering in an internal plain we created in his mind. Then, he goes there to deal with it in mediation and ritual. Its one of the darkest places in creation."

"And now Harry is there with _my_ pain?" asked Hermione, horrified.

"Not yet, but I have to guide him there," said Enola. "Its the only chance he has to survive. But its going to be an ordeal for him."

"Can I help?" asked Hermione.

Enola shook her head. "This is Harry's battle. And mine."

"Yours?" asked Neville.

"I have to join Harry there," Enola explained. "He's confused and frightened in that place. And weak. He needs my help to get through it. That's why neither of you can come. He would never want either of you to see him in that vulnerable state. And he'd never forgive me if I showed you."

"But _you_ are allowed to see?" asked Hermione, unable to keep the suspicion and jealousy from her tone.

Enola read her inference clearly. She sighed. "Remember what I told you. Harry and I are not, and have never been,_ romantic_. But this thing between us is deeply personal. Maybe, one day, he'll have you do this for him and not me. But for now, I'm all he has."

"Then help him" said Neville. "Just be careful. We'll be waiting for you when you come out."

Then Enola took a steadying breath, pulled a strand of light from her temple and pressed it to Harry's. Then she passed out beside him.

* * *

Harry felt like he was drowning. His throat was filled with something viscous, gelatinous. It was blocking his airways. He coughed and slapped his back but it wouldn't budge. He was afraid, scared witless at the prospect of dying. He didn't want to do it. Where would his mind go, his thoughts? What would happen to all his love? But he couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't it just go away? Leave him alone. It hurt so much, like a lancing blow to the trachea.

And he was cold. So very cold.

There was a blackness in his veins, pushing through him. It was icy. He shivered as it flowed underneath his thin skin. For he felt thin, stretched somehow. He couldn't hold in heat. He tried to hug into himself for warmth. But there was none. The cold pressed on his lungs, heavy and leaden. He spluttered for a breath that refused to come.

Would dying hurt? He was mindlessly afraid that it would. He couldn't take any more pain. His entire self hurt. He couldn't survive any more wounds. There was a terrific ache in his hips. He'd been kicked down stone stairs for that to happen to him. He rubbed hopelessly at his papery flesh to try and soothe the stabbing pain. It just made it worse. For even his hand hurt. He turned his palm to inspect it. The raw flesh of seared skin sat before him. A clothes iron had been responsible for that damage. He could still smell his skin as it caught and burned, the remnants clinging to the iron as it was drawn away.

But he felt oddly disconnected to all that somehow. Maybe he was a ghost. The injuries nothing more than cold memories from his bodily life. He felt like a ghost. Thin, without substance. And so cold. The wind had no barrier to pinch his soul with its icy touch. He shuddered against it and tried to hold his mind steady.

But he was slipping.

He couldn't see anything. Shapeless masses flowed in and out of his sight, but he was too consumed with the pain and the cold to catch hold of a single one. To focus on it. He didn't even know where he was. The freezing tendrils crept through him as he huddled into himself and he couldn't find the will to look around. He knew, vaguely, that he was trembling. He was sure it was getting colder. He needed to move, because, ghost or not, this cold was getting unbearable.

Harry pulled himself forwards. He could only use his left arm. His right wrist had been shattered. He couldn't remember how that happened. But he remembered why he was so cold. It had been bitter that winter and the basement of the new house didn't have heating. He shouldn't have been there in just his underwear. Who knew how long he'd be locked in there this time. He supposed he should have known better than to stay for that extra drink with Luna...

There were things moving around him. He couldn't make them out, but he was pinned to the floor with fear of them. They were dark, but their heads were flaming. Harry was so afraid of them he pissed himself. They would burn him if they got too close. He didn't know where they were, but they were frighteningly nearby. Why wouldn't anyone help him?

He was so alone, maybe the only person in the world. The loneliness bit at him, took low blows when he wasn't ready. Was he really such a bad person? Why had everyone abandoned him, left him to fend for himself against the flaming-haired monsters? Harry was too afraid to cry. He was pathetic, weak. He should just give in to the inevitable. He wasn't worthy of anyone. Maybe he should just end it himself, feel something beyond this misery, before he felt nothing at all.

He hauled himself up a jagged rock face into a howling wind. The splintered stone snagged at his arms, cutting into his flesh. The rocks were razor-sharp, but he had no choice but to touch it, to clamber onwards. There was no other route of escape. He inched forwards, whimpering shrilly at each cut. He didn't know where he was going, there was nothing to see by. But he was sure this was the right way, the only way, to go. He peered over the ridge, expecting nothing more than a further expanse of the smothering darkness.

But there was a light. Harry was startled by it. It was bright, and so, so_ warm._ He unfroze from the spiky cliffside and hurried towards it. But the shadows moved with him. They pounced and tackled him. He fell. He felt icy fists connect with his face, heavy kicks landed in his abdomen. But there were other attacks. Words he could barely hear, but he felt them. Cutting him down, trampling on his very spirit. He felt worthless. He couldn't move anymore, and why bother trying? He might as well just lie there, accept the battering he was due for his own pointlessness.

But then the light was upon him and the shadows shrieked like golems and fled. He felt his wounds, let the pain envelop him. The light was letting him. It was here to help. It was safe, friendly. He knew it somehow, knew it would look after him. He had dressed his wounds in its presence before. It encouraged him to stand. It didn't speak, but he knew its commands. He obeyed. He moved slowly, staying in the warmth of the thin beam. He could feel the ice at the edges. He feared it. Harry moved more quickly, following the light. It would lead him home.

It always did.

And slowly, Harry began to know. He recognised the place. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, his skin firmed and began to resist the cold. He looked out across the scene. A rocky, dusty, dark landscape, bleak as the edge of despair, with angry black and purple clouds crackling with lightening overhead. There were dark crevices, nooks of hatred and evil all across the vast plain. Harry was utterly terrified of taking a step in any direction. He shuddered as a sickening fear crossed over him, his flesh prickling in sharp spikes.

He fell to his knees and let out his tears. He was so afraid of this place. Everything here wanted to hurt him, and he wasn't strong enough to fight them all. He wasn't good enough to beat the demons encircling him. He scratched at his eyes, preferring to claw them out rather than to see the horrors before him. He wondered if he'd ever be safe again.

And then he was being eased gently down. His head coaxed onto a soft pillow, or maybe it was a soft lap. He looked up. An angel looked back down at him. Surely she was an angel. She was divinely beautiful. Her skin like flawless porcelain, her hair dark waves of hope. She smoothed his sweaty brow, his face, her very touch was healing. He felt stronger. She was whispering to him, but he could barely make out the words. He just let her care for him, and he grew empowered under her ministrations. He trusted the angel to look after him.

"Come on now, Harry, time to come back to us," the angel whispered. "Hermione is waiting for you."

Harry sat up sharply, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. Hermione? She was here? She couldn't be...it was far too dangerous. The demons down here would surely get her. Harry leapt up, power flowing into him like a dam had burst. He felt strong, predator-like. He needed to be, to protect Hermione against this palpable darkness. The lion rose in him, snarled and roared and snapped its jaws angrily, viciously. The shadows receded in the face of his fury. _How dare they threaten her?_ He would rip them all apart! Bite and swipe and slice till they were all in bits beneath his rage.

Then the angel was suddenly gone, and her warmth went with her. But she was still close, Harry could tell that. But which way to go? Then he heard Hermione, a whisper somewhere just beyond the angel and her light, which had flashed on the horizon. Hermione's voice was the wind, blowing and swirling and coaxing Harry to action.

For she was crying, screaming out in agony.

And, though he couldn't see her, he knew she was cowering, balled up, bracing to be hit. It didn't take much of a leap to work out who was giving her this beating. Harry roared in uncontrolled anger. He had to save her, to get her safe from this place. He heard her voice again and raced for it, desperate for her, mindless with his need to protect her from anything. And everything. For the night here was long and full of dangers.

_Hold on Hermione, I'm coming._

* * *

It had been six hours. There was a medical spell and potions research lab on the ground floor of the palace, and it was here that Hermione sat watch, one hand gripped tightly in Harry's own. She hadn't left his side since he and Enola had been moved here. Not that he would have known. He was utterly unresponsive. The bed he was prone on didn't look the most comfortable either, built for function over pleasure. Hermione frowned at the idea of his discomfort. She thought about transfiguring the cot into something more bouncy, or at least fluffing his pillows.

After all, he had enough to deal with trying to free himself from his nightmare dreamscape.

He looked pained, troubled. Hermione could tell that in the crinkle of his eyelids, the tight pinch of his forehead. She didn't want to think of him as _frightened_, despite appearances. He had become such a blinding anchor of strength for her, in such a short space of time, that she was starting to think of him as borderline invincible. The idea of him having any sort of vulnerability was basically absurd in her new vision of him.

But his hands shivered, and told her a very different story. In the way his skin crept, and darted from hot to the very, very cold. He was so in need, wherever he was. Hermione was desperate to help him, but she might as well have been a million miles away, not sat at his bedside clutching his trembling fingers between her own, for all the use she felt to him. All she could do was smooth them and whisper gently to him, unsure if he could hear her or not.

She knew of no better way to help.

She covered his scars with his shawl to protect his modesty. Every now and then she would splay a hand across his chest, to feel his heartbeat, to reaffirm that he was still living. It brought all her own senses into shocking focus to feel him so viscerally alive beneath her touch, sending a heat rushing up from within her own chest and coating her in the deepest flush.

Next to Hermione, Neville was as motionless as Harry at Enola's side. _She_ looked determined, purposeful, even in her deep sleep. But Neville was pale with worry, his head bowed and lips pressed firmly to his wife's hands, which he clasped firmly between his own. Hermione's heart bled for him, she ached from her worry for him. It was the first time she'd seen the new, strong him break down like this.

And his love for Enola screamed out at her, shaming her for her earlier jealousy. The tender way he brushed her hair from her head, the way he hushed quietly to her when she spasmed, the desperation in his eyes that she had gone into danger somewhere that he couldn't follow. The tell-tale marks of a love so strong it should never be doubted, too pure to be threatened by the risks facing it now.

Hermione felt terribly responsible for all of it.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on Harry. Her stretched heart didn't have room for all this emotion, not when she had spent so many years blocking it off. Harry became her focus; if she could somehow help him, all would be well. But she felt useless, impotent. Like Neville with Enola, she felt Harry had gone to a place that she couldn't reach, somewhere beyond her ability to render aid.

And the irrational part of her brain was truly terrified of that. It made her believe that Harry could only ever be truly safe when he was with her. When he was out of her sight, she couldn't protect him. Like that night five years ago in the Forbidden Forest. He had gone into the most gravest of dangers alone, without _her_. Hermione hadn't been there to defend him from Voldemort. Or from Dumbledore, or from _himself_, as she had so unshirkingly in the past_._ If she had been, maybe none of this would have happened.

But there was good and bad with that. Maybe Harry would never have confronted these suppressed feelings for her, would never have come to see her as the beautiful, incredible, most important person in his life that she was now certain she was. The ritual had told her all of that. And so much more besides, as astounding as all of it was. She blushed at the thought. She was sure she didn't deserve it, wasn't worthy of a love so strong. But she knew she had it, nonetheless. Harry loved her so much it was breathtaking.

And she gripped his hand tightly, prayed to Merlin and every God she could think of, and begged Harry to come back and _tell her._ Not that she could imagine how he ever would. Words just weren't his way. Maybe it would fall to her to do the telling for them both, just as soon as she could sort her own feelings out.

For she was certain she knew how she felt now. Her reaction to Harry being in such peril had brought that slamming home to her. She had been resisting it, unreasonably thinking it couldn't happen so fast. This wasn't some soppy movie, after all. But, then, she accepted this _wasn't_ fast. This hadn't all come on in the space of a couple of weeks, since she'd been rescued. It wasn't the new ideas of Harry that had stirred these passions in her, the ones that threatened to make him an addiction.

This had always been there, for as long as she could remember. As much a part of her as her bushy hair and bookworm ways. Harry was just that integral to her world.

It had been then when she was just a girl, when it was new and raw and so powerful that she pushed away from him during their sixth school year, because she was so fundamentally afraid of it. The strength of her own feelings for Harry had rattled her so much she consciously put distance between them rather than face it. She had nearly been killed in defence of him the year before. That was frightening enough.

That she would have done it _again,_ without even a second thought, totally shattered her world.

She was too clever not to know what that meant. She'd kept that self-conversation at arms length since their third year, when Harry had first opened up to her about his desire for a family, one cruelly snatched away from him by being denied the chance to live with his Godfather. She was the first person he'd let that close to him. They'd crossed a boundary together, without even flinching at the border. That meant something important for them both, but Hermione was too young to really understand it, or how deep it went.

But now, consumed with worry at his infirmary bedside, she finally accepted emotionally all she'd once cautiously skirted where Harry was concerned. He had done it for her, years ago, if she believed the elves and the witches of the house. She couldn't wrap her mind around how he came to that conclusion, but she was deeply fascination by the scenario. One day, she would make him tell her all about it. It would become her favourite bedtime story. When they were tucked up in bed, together, hopelessly and endlessly tangled together.

So Harry had to come back to her. Even Voldemort wouldn't be cruel enough to deny her, not now she knew just what Harry coming back would mean. For her, for _them_, for the world. And for any stupid twats retarded enough to dare pose a threat to them. Hermione wouldn't abide them. If Harry was dangerous when riled, then Hermione was positively _lethal_ when crossed, and nothing made her crosser than people who threatened Harry.

Neville's words rang with truth in her ears, as Hermione clutched firmly still at Harry's fingers. Tom Riddle _really_ didn't know the horrors that were coming for him.

* * *

And Harry stumbled again. His knees were scratched and grazed. Dark blood seeped from already deep wounds. Grit and dirt stung at the ridges. And he couldn't heal them. His wand was lost, somewhere in the abyss. He couldn't remember where he'd dropped it. In any case, he didn't have the strength to go and find it. He rubbed at the cuts with similarly scarred fingers, wincing and yelping at the pain.

Then Enola raced around the mountain of skulls Harry had fallen against. She cast a series of spells at unseen enemies, who roared and recoiled with a cannon-blast of thunder. Harry covered his ears as the air vibrated with the deafening crack, just as Enola cast the fiercest Shield Charm she could muster. She slumped to her knees, struggling for one clean breath. Then Harry screamed. His old scar split open on his head in a burst of fiery agony. The pain was so blinding Harry lost his mind a moment. He crumpled to the floor. Voldemort was near, stalking like a predator. And Harry was too weak to resist him. Surely, it would soon be over.

Harry's exhausted body stilled, his mind wished for the end.

Then his mother's voice coursed through his being, infusing him. He knew her words, she'd spoken them so often before, but he couldn't hear a sound. They were in him, part of him, like a spell he'd absorbed into the fabric of his soul. She spoke of only one thing, his most devastating source of power. One that had welled in him so forcefully he'd been terrified to look at it. It was like the sun, blinding and empowering all at once. It was the only thing that could save him now. Harry had long feared that if he ever _did_ look at it that he'd never be able to look away. Not ever.

And if she ever _looked back..._Harry was petrified he might drown in her. And he so wanted to drown.

For he was so very tired of being alone, of walking his path of solitude. He curled up against the cold, rocky floor and wished for _her_ comfort. Her touch had always comforted him. He'd like nothing more than to reach out for it whenever he needed to. But even this thought shook him in terror. The risk of abandoning his lonely life and inviting someone to share his world...to cast off the familiar solitude and become part of something bigger, better...the very concept scared him stupid. He didn't like to need, to have this necessity for her.

But with Hermione, he was just powerless to resist it.

The mere thought of her invigorated him. He pulled himself up and stumbled to Enola, panting and shuddering nearby. He hauled her to her feet, hugged her close and let the energy Hermione's memory had stirred in him pass to her. This was magic he could do without a wand. It sent out protective waves like a destructive Patronus, powered by Hermione. It sent the demons and Dementors scurrying like pitiful rats. Even the shadow of Voldemort turned tail and fled, unable to face down the power Hermione could enable Harry to wield.

"Ennie, its our chance, open the gate," he whispered to her.

"But your wounds...they aren't healed..." she replied warningly.

"I can cope with the pain," said Harry, bracingly. "You've righted my mind...again. That's all that matters. If I ever forget to tell you, thank you."

"One day we'll come down here and kick the shit out off all of these darknesses, _your_ darknesses" Enola promised. "You can thank me then. Come on, lets leave before the devils come back."

They broke apart and Enola brandished her wand. She drew a doorway in front of them, decorating it with runes, then pushed her magic into it. A long, blindingly bright tunnel emerged and sped away from them, swirling and churning with milky mists and clouds. She raced through it without hesitation, knowing that Harry would demand that she went first. Harry, himself, took one last look back at his internal mindscape. It was bleak as fuck, to be frank. Even so, he would miss having two eyes again, even if all they saw were the horrors of his life, trapped in a plain of his own misery. He took a steadying breath, prepared for the searing pain his waking body was about to be hit with, then darted after Enola down the tunnel to consciousness.

* * *

The crackling torches of the driveway were still lit. Hermione swallowed at the sight, her mouth dry and arid as she looked at them. Her skin crawled with roiling fear. But she daren't turn back. The wards to the house would have been activated by now, it would be already known that she'd returned. She felt sick every time she crossed the security perimeter; the darkness of the magic there always settled ill on her stomach. She dry retched against the sensation, then began a slow walk towards the house.

Over to her left, Hermione could hear the prisoners of the camp being worked away, even this late into the night. They were building a new block and the scraping of shovels and the sounds of construction drifted to her ears on the close, still air. Hermione didn't want to know what the new block would be used for. It was bad enough that Draco Malfoy himself regularly turned up to inspect its progress. If his Section Seven had anything to do with the place...Hermione shuddered at the very notion. If _he_ was going to be close by, it might be worth throwing herself from the roof of the manor house after all.

There was a crack somewhere in the camp. It may have been a whip, or the snapping of bone. Hermione had conditioned herself to be dully immune to such things. She'd protested once before, when they first moved here, begged Ron to soundproof the house at the very least. To keep them from hearing the misery outside. He'd punched her in the face for her insolence. These were the sounds of victory, of justice, he'd insisted. Then he locked her in the Black Room for two days without food. Or light. And just a canteen of stagnant water, still there from her last _stay_.

It had taken two months before she could sleep with the lights off once he'd released her.

But how she wished the lights were off now. Each torch she passed acted like a cruel pointer to her impending fate. Each one flickered out as she went by, marking the moments like the sinister conductor of the Devil's Orchestra. She knew what was going to happen. It was just a case of how bad it would be. And, if she knew her _husband_, it would be pretty horrific. He was getting worse at his punishments, and by _worse_ Hermione meant _more effective_, reducing her to a greater mess of a wreck each and every time.

It filled her with unspeakable anguish that they hadn't fulfilled their duty-bound marital commune this month. That was always something of an ordeal, but lately Ron had been experimenting in making it a new form of torture for her. She often heard his concubines screeching in agony as he tested his new techniques on them, all to make them perfectly horrendous for her.

All permitted under the guise of a formal expectation as part of their marriage contract.

Hermione had no legal recourse to protest. Not that anyone would have listened to her. King Voldemort had enforced a raft of laws that made witches like her the property of their wedded Lords. She might as well have appealed to a tree for justice for all the good it would do. The Death Eaters of the legal courts would turn any complaint she made into an act of treason against the Dark King and his 'reforms'. They'd sooner burn her at the stake, like poor Hannah Abbott, than bring her husband to heel.

So, if Ron chose to torture her sexually, she had no choice but to endure it as best she could. Then cry her silent tears later in her separate bed, when she was sure he wouldn't hear...and punish her for that, too.

Hermione really wished she could fathom what had happened to him, how power had corrupted him so greatly that he shirked off all sense of honour and decency. He had been an okay sort of guy once, during a time Hermione now honestly struggled to remember. She just never imagined Ron would become the devil she now knew.

She felt certain his cunt of a sister had a lot to do with it.

The way Ginny had thrown herself at Voldemort's feet ranked as one of the most disgusting displays Hermione had ever witnessed. A willing volunteer to bear his children; she still recalled the way her hair had turned an ugly, evil tint of black as his seed quickened in her womb, how her eyes lost all semblance of colour, given over to hatred and malice. It made her sick to think on it.

Hermione shuddered at the memories. How had it come to this? She felt inordinately jealous of Harry right then, for escaping this nightmare when he did. He would have hated this, riled against it so much. It was a stupid train of thought. Harry would never have allowed this, if he had any say at all. He would have gone down fighting, he _did,_ after all. Surely, that was how he came to die in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione steadfastly refused to believe Voldemort's propaganda, that Harry had walked to his death, died on his knees like a coward. It screamed against every notion, every shred of knowledge she had about her lost best friend. But that's how Voldemort's new history books would record it. Harry's name, his deeds, had been forcibly scrubbed from _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ and _Modern Magical History_. His entry didn't even make the new appendix of the amended _Rise and Rise of the Dark Arts_. He was a footnote in history, reduced to a passing nuance, paid as little mind as the New World Order could allow.

Except for those who knew and loved him. Some things just couldn't be erased.

Unless the entire wizarding population was Memory Charmed. Hermione wouldn't put that past those bastards. It was the kind of sweeping evil they were prone to. Hermione actually moaned at the thought. Imagine losing all knowledge of Harry to a spell? She didn't think she could bear that. She resolved to protect her mind from such an eventuality. If Ron ever came across that idea he'd probably curse her in her sleep. She'd wake up one day and Harry Potter would never have existed for her...

And all her remaining hope in the world would die with his stolen memory.

She had to push her memories of Harry deep, deep down. The final security checkpoint was coming up. If they scanned her mind and found those thoughts close to the surface, they'd report it to Ron. She couldn't let that happen. Those memories were her most precious possessions, they kept her sane. She had to defend them. Hermione focused her brain, throwing up her low-level Occlumency shields. They were light, barely noticeable. The guards were not accomplished Legilimens, and the standard intrusion spells didn't delve too deeply. She had to be thankful for small mercies these days.

She reached the checkpoint barrier and handed over her wand. She felt naked and vulnerable without it. The two Death Eater guards took turns inspecting it, testing it for hidden curses or enchantments. They frowned as they found it clean. Then, each one took a turn patting her down, lingering longer than was necessary on her breasts and the upper parts of her thighs, all the while smirking malevolently. Then, without warning, they cast curses at her. First the Imperious, to ensure she had no mental defences in place, as they were illegal. Hermione felt her mind wander, she lost her ideas of space and time. Then she came shuddering back with a thud. Their spell work was clumsy, awkward. It smacked a full-blown migraine into her head.

Then her head was forced into a Legilimency Probe between two crackling rods. It stung as the imbibed spell crossed her mind. It flirted with her shields, but didn't dip beyond a surface level. One Death Eater examined the results on an emerald tablet. Seemingly satisfied with the results, he cancelled the probe.

"You are past curfew, Mrs Weasley," said the second Death Eater, returning her wand.

"I lost track of time," she offered, rubbing her temples to offset the ache throbbing there.

"I have no interest in your explanations," he said coldly. "You can explain that to your Wedded Lord. I sincerely hope his reprimand to you is sufficient. You need to learn your place."

Hermione bowed her head and the guards parted for her. She edged towards the house, her cautious steps crunching on the gravel underfoot. Her heart beat furiously in protest the closer she got. Her skin prickled with so much fear it was like being licked with icy fire. She couldn't control her rasping, ragged breaths. She was quite terrified. She lingered at the door, fumbling with her key as her fingers were shaking so much.

Then, it simply swung open for her. Slowly, menacingly.

"You're late."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach, already coiling with sickness. The entry hallway to the house was in complete darkness. Hermione could hear Ron's voice but couldn't see where he was. He would love that, to taunt her, to keep her guessing when he would strike. She was frozen on the threshold, held fast by the thrill of terror rushing through her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered meekly. "It was Susan's birthday and..."

And she never got to explain, for a rough hand snatched out from the darkness, tangled painfully in the curly locks she'd made up so carefully and prettily, with glitter and ribbons, for her night out, and dragged her into the house, slamming the door shut behind her...

Hermione bolted awake and jumped up, heart racing, leant over the side of her bed and threw up copiously. She squeaked and baulked and fell back onto her pillows, fighting to push away the dark memories of her nightmare. Her cheeks were sodden with hot tears. The dark images were clustering at the edges of her mind, tunnelling her vision into a swirling mass of blackness. She struggled to calm herself, to regain control of her panicked senses and remember where she was.

There was a _pop_ and Sally was at her side. Her eyes were wide as she clocked Hermione's desperate state.

"Lady Hermione!" she shrieked, looking at the pool of vomit soaking into the carpet. "What be wrong?"

"I-I had a nightmare," said Hermione, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"You not need be sorry," said Sally, cleaning up the sick with an effortless snap of her fingers. Another click and a calming spell settled on Hermione, slowing her whirlwind of fear to a gentle trundle._ I'm not there anymore, I'm not there anymore_, Hermione repeated over and over in her mind, breathing heavily and wringing her hands together. Sally cast her hand over Hermione's sweaty forehead. "Well, you not have fever, at least. But come, let Sally get you into clean nightie. You sicky all over that one."

Hermione slowly rose from her bed. Her legs were still trembling from the dream, but the images were starting to fade now she wasn't by herself. She stripped down, beyond modesty, and Sally conjured a cold cloth, which she rubbed her down with. Then she helped her into a new nightdress and guided her to her favourite seat by the window, where a light breeze helped to cool her hot brow.

"Does Lady Hermione want me to fetch Master Harry?" asked Sally. "I know he come at once."

Hermione was sorely tempted a moment. Harry would make it all better just by being there with her. But she checked herself. It had been scant days since he'd woken, screeching and writhing in agony, after destroying the decoy Horcrux in ritual and sneakily stealing her pain away into the bargain. The healing witches of the palace had subdued him again to work on him and Hermione had been forced to stay away and leave them to it. Now he was just resting and recovering.

"No, I'll be alright," she said with a rattling breath. It was half-true. She'd win the battle for now, not let her sleep demons best her. She just wouldn't give them the satisfaction of_ sleeping_. She had a good potion for that. "Harry needs to rest. Merlin knows I can relate to just how much."

"Master Harry be very brave taking Lady Hermione's aches and pains," said Sally proudly. "Sally be knowing how very bad they was. Master Harry very brave, but very stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Hermione queried.

"Master Harry not rest, not heal," said Sally, sadly. "He face pain to master it. Sally never seen it work, but Master Harry insistent. He never sleep much after sessions with Lady Longbottom, though they usually prepare better for one. But Sally will let him off this time."

Hermione sat up crossly, her dream forgotten in the face of Harry being up and about and suffering needlessly, and not telling her he was so she could tell him off for it. "So you're telling me Harry isn't in bed?"

"No, my Lady," Sally confirmed.

"Then where is he?" Hermione asked. "And why will you _'let him off'?"_

"Master Harry at his Shrine with Firebird Lily," said Sally.

Hermione quirked her eyebrows. "His Shrine?"

"Is where Mrs and Mr Potter sleep forever," said Sally. "Would have been Mrs Potter's birthday today."

Hermione gasped aloud. Harry had brought his parents here? Dug up their graves and moved their bones? But why?

"Sally, can you take me to him?"

"Sally not sure," said the elf, wringing her hands nervously. "She not be sure if Master Harry be wanting to share such a private moment."

"He'll want to share it with me," said Hermione, confidently. "Can you at least ask him for me?"

Just then there was a flash of flame above them. It yielded Lily, Harry's beautiful phoenix. Sally looked up at it and actually smirked.

"Sally be thinking Lady Hermione have her answer," she said. "Master Harry always be listening and watching for her. Firebird Lily be waiting for you, my Lady. But Sally insist you wear a dressing gown. It be chilly outside. _Nippy..._for a Lady."

Hermione blushed at the inference and slipped into her thick gown, pulling it tight around her. Lily fluttered to her shoulder and instantly whipped her away in a blast of fire. Hermione wasn't sure she particularly liked this way of travelling, it was quite dizzying. Lily didn't seemed to notice her discomfort, leaving her alone at the entry to an outdoor mausoleum and soaring over to Harry, who was sat cross legged nearby. Harry crooked his arm without moving his head, feeling Lily's presence as she reached him. The phoenix perched on his arm, the way Hermione had seen Hedwig do countless times. She lamented the loss of Harry's first familiar.

"Sit with me, Hermione," Harry requested softly.

Hermione moved slowly to Harry's side and eased herself down next to him. She still moved cautiously, out of habit, though she now felt no pain at all. Well, at least none that was physical.

"You should be resting," she said gently.

Harry looked down. Hermione had sat very close to him, their thighs were touching.

"I am resting," Harry replied, sighing. He fixed his eye firmly ahead. "I feel calm here. It helps."

Hermione followed Harry's line of sight. He was looking at two large, marble headstones in front of him. They looked fairly new, well cared for. Fresh flowers had been placed at the base of one of the headstones, the one Harry was directly in front of. Even Hermione, who was no kind of botanist, could guess what kind of flowers they were.

"You brought them here?" she asked softly.

"I had to," Harry replied lowly. "They would have been desecrated if I'd left them in Godric's Hollow. I couldn't allow that. I don't know if they mind that I moved them or not. I hope not."

His shaking voice betrayed his worry. Hermione snaked out her hand and smoothed his forearm. She knew it was a risk, to test Harry's physical boundaries. But he made not the slightest movement to withdraw or push her off. He allowed the contact, Hermione's chest fluttered that he did.

"I'm sure they know you did what you thought was right," said Hermione. "I think its right."

She couldn't see his face, but she could sense him smile.

"Then that's the only validation I need. My mum said to trust you. I always did. The one time I didn't, I let Riddle take me out of the game. I'll never make that mistake again."

Hermione sat in stilled shock. "You...you talked to your mum about...about _me?"_

Harry chuckled. "Actually, she talked to _me _about _you_."

"When?"

"Five years ago, when Riddle sent me to the very edge of the afterlife," Harry said vaguely. He shifted awkwardly. "I'm a little bit ashamed of what happened when I was there. I'd rather not talk about it."

Harry stiffened and edged away from her.

"You were ashamed of talking to your mum about me?" asked Hermione, honestly a little hurt.

"No, I didn't mean ashamed like that," said Harry quickly. "That's not what I meant at all."

Hermione felt pacified by Harry's slightly manic reaction, but she was still wary. "Well, what then?"

"It's just that...I'm still ashamed she had to speak to me at all. That she had to wake from her rest...because of what I was going to do."

"Which was?"

"I...I was going to take the train," said Harry, his voice shamed and tiny.

Hermione turned fully to him. "I don't understand what that means."

Harry stiffened further, sighed deeply and bowed his head so his shoulders hunched. "When Riddle cursed me, I went to the very edge of death," Harry began heavily. "It took the form of a spectral Kings Cross train station. I met Dumbledore there, had the conversation with him I already told you about. But...I left a bit out."

"Which bit?"

"The bit where he gave me the option of taking a train...to go _on."_

Hermione sucked in a breath as she realised what Harry was suggesting.

"I - I asked Dumbledore," Harry stuttered. "If you would stay with Ron. I was so exhausted, Hermione. I was done. I'd had enough of the pain, the fighting, the suffering. You'd kissed Ron, I knew you wanted to be with him. I trusted that he would take care of you if I...if I didn't come back.

"I asked Dumbledore three times if you would stay with Ron. He looked me in the eyes each time and said you would. But he didn't elaborate on it. I know now that it would have interfered with his plans. I thought...I dumbly assumed that would mean Ron would protect you. You'd be safe. You'd be okay without me. So I...I called for the train. I even got on it and sat down."

Hermione felt her pulse speeding in her neck. Tears stung behind her eyes. Lily suddenly took flight from Harry and landed deftly on her shoulder. It made her instantly calm, and a little bit coy and shy. She couldn't understand why. It recovered her power of speech.

"But...the train didn't go...go _on_."

"No," said Harry. "You see, I didn't remain on my own on the train for very long. My mother appeared from another carriage...one further on, one I couldn't see into because it was so cloudy and milky. She was so _beautiful_, Hermione. I was mesmerised by her. I just looked at her face, her gorgeous smile, for the longest time. It might have been months, just staring at her. I couldn't look enough. And it was the _real_ her, not the dark copy Dumbledore had trapped in the Resurrection Stone.

"Eventually she spoke to me. She told me it wasn't my time. I wasn't finished with life. And it was nothing to do with Voldemort or any of it. That was just window dressing."

"What did she mean then?" asked Hermione.

"She told me I was in love and didn't know it," said Harry. "And I ought to go back and experience it fully. That it would change not only my life but my very soul. It would make all my pain pale into insignificance. She said it was such a powerful love it could change the world around me. And that the girl I loved was owed to be told about it."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Lily the Phoenix sang out beautifully. The note quavered in the air and resonated in her bones. It filled her with brightness and light, boundless energy, and waves of emotion that left her light-headed. It chased away the last lingering remnants of Hermione's nightmare. She wasn't certain, but she couldn't shake the impression this was how Lily talked to her...and she wasn't entirely sure which _Lily_ was doing the talking.

"Harry...I..." she tried to say. She wanted to say a million things just then, but none seemed quite right. In the end she settled on, "how did you _get_ Lily?"

"My mum gave her to me, to get me _back_," he said. "She just summoned her as we sat on the train. I didn't name her, like Neville thinks. Lily was already her name. I think some of my mum is in her. I think that was her animagus form. When she spirited me back, she stayed with me. To watch over me."

"Neville said she never goes to anyone else," said Hermione. "But she doesn't mind coming to me."

"She reflects my emotions," said Harry. "And my mum's, too. She approved of you. So Lily does as well."

Hermione blinked. She was beyond humbled, so shivery with awe that she could barely think.

"I'm not asking for anything extraordinary, despite how that all sounded," Harry said quietly. "I'd have never told you that story if I could have avoided it. I don't want you to feel cornered or pressured. That wasn't my intention at all."

"Cornered? _Pressured_?" Hermione huffed. "To be _loved_ by you? There is nothing but beauty in that, Harry. I don't _deserve it_, I've done nothing to warrant it."

"You've been _you_," said Harry. "All my life. For all the wonder and loveliness that really means. For the rise of my conscience, for my introduction to what love actually is. And that's more than I was ever due. I didn't see it before because I didn't deserve to. I still don't. To feel what I do for you...I shouldn't have been blessed with that. I shouldn't have known such a thing could exist. And you are _more_ than worthy. It's what makes what has happened to you even more despicable. To think that Ron...to think that _I_..."

"How many times, Harry!" cried Hermione, hotly. "_You_ didn't do anything!"

"I boarded the train..." said Harry, his voice childlike, infinitesimally little. Like apologising for a scolding he could not avoid before it came. "I was going to go on. I wanted to. I left you behind, consciously. Gave up...on life, on _you_. And I'd have never known...never known what _this_ was. How it felt. How wonderfully _amazing _it felt. Just to _know_ it, whether you feel anything for me or not. My entire existence would have been a sham without the knowing, a waste of bone and sinew. Just to be _able_ to feel this for you...it makes me even more ashamed that I might not have ever known about it."

Hermione wished she could quell the rampant flickering of her heart. She was so breathless at Harry's words she couldn't formulate the right replies in her mind.

"So...you boarded the train," she said eventually. "And your mum talked you into coming back? For...for_ me_?"

Harry nodded. Hermione could hardly breathe.

"She forgave me for my moment of selfishness," said Harry, staring hard at his mother's gravestone, tracing her name hungrily with his eye. The moonlight had shone directly at the engraving just then. "She told me off first. I mean, she is my mum. She didn't get the chance to tell me off for anything when she was alive...because of _everything_. I think she quite enjoyed it, actually."

Hermione smiled fondly, looking at the grave, too. She leaned over gently and pulled her wand. She conjured a wreath of red roses and placed them against the marble with a whispered _'happy birthday, Mrs Potter'_. Harry watched her and his breath caught, coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

"If your mum forgave you, then so do I," said Hermione sitting back. "But you need to forgive me back."

Harry turned to her questioningly. "For what?"

"For settling for Ron at Hogwarts," Hermione began. "For not telling you a long time ago how I felt about you. I could have at least have given you the option, given you something to think about. And I need you to forgive me for not fighting for you. I settled into bondage, into despair. I allowed it. I even considered suicide when it got too much. It wasn't you who was selfish...it was _me_. I was cowardly, afraid of you. Afraid of a real relationship, one I knew might last forever once it had begun...

"...I was afraid of being _in love with you_."

Harry gulped. Hermione watched his throat rise and fall with it. There were words trapped there somewhere. Harry struggled to get them out.

"Is...is that what you are?" he croaked after a minute or so.

"Always," said Hermione, offering her most adoring smile. "Always have been. Whereas you _didn't know_, I didn't _let myself_ know."

"And now?"

"I just want to drown in you."

Harry seemed to melt. The lines in his forehead relaxed in utter contentment, his eye flashed with sheer elation. But it wasn't enough for Hermione. She slowly, tentatively reached up, tracking her hand around his head, questing for the knot of his shawl. She pulled gently till it gave to her. Harry didn't make one motion to stop her.

Emboldened, she gently unravelled him. He closed his eye; Hermione could sense his building shame. She moved her free hand under his drooping chin, easing his head back up. His eye opened questioningly, swimming in disbelief. He couldn't process that she wanted to see his ruined face. It was all kinds of wrong in his world. That, despite everything, she _wanted_ to look at him. His soft, baffled gaze considered her as if she were an alien creature. What that meant, what it spoke of his mental state, sent Hermione wild with despair. She continued unwrapping the shawl until it came away completely.

Then she cupped a hand gently to his good, left side. Her thumb tracked a path back and fore across his cheek. His skin was maddeningly soft. Hermione's other hand came up behind Harry's neck, her fingers dancing little circles at his nape, tickling the little triangle of downy hair she surprisingly found there. His eye darted wondrously across her face, searching, hoping, hotly curious to dissect her intent.

It was only then Hermione realised that the air around them was throbbing. It was heaving like in the ritual chamber, encasing them in such a cocoon of energy...it was like bathing in caramel. But it wasn't _Harry's_ energy...it was hers...or _theirs_. She couldn't place it. She only knew she didn't want to leave it. Harry was letting her in, this was his way of showing her. And he'd let her see his face...

How far dare Hermione go?

She decided to leap. Her hands about Harry's face and neck kept up with their movements. He had closed his eye at her touch. But she wanted him to be aware of what she was about to do.

"Harry..." she whispered breathily.

He opened his eye to her, watched slowly as she inched her face closer to his, didn't resist when she slightly tilted his head. He felt wonderfully compliant and pliable in her hands. He was shaking crazily, it drove Hermione's thoughts into a cartwheel. At this point, Lily took flight and encircled them, as if standing guard against any disturbance.

It was the last piece of encouragement Hermione needed.

She boldly closed the gap between them and pressed her lips softly to Harry's, mindful of his cut side. He gasped a moment, then shuddered all over as Hermione's tongue raked against his mouth. He was really defenceless, and he opened up for her without resistance. It took about ten seconds of Hermione's dominance for Harry to really accept this was happening, that maybe Hermione actually _meant_ it. Meant every swipe of her lips against his, every unrepentant thrust of her tongue against the sides of his mouth, when it wasn't duelling with his own.

And then, he just gave to it, taking Hermione by immense surprise as his hands found her waist, raced up to her shoulders and then swept her to the ground, where he dropped himself atop her, kissing her passionately with no mind for his injured lips. Hermione was senseless from his intensity, and forgot he was injured at all for a few moments, until she accidentally moved her hand to his scar. He winced in unmasked agony as she touched his wounded skin and she broke apart from him.

"Harry...oh, I'm so sorry!"

He looked down at her, grinning as widely as his smashed features would allow. "For _that_? Some pain is worth it...and that _definitely_ counts!"

Hermione laughed nervously beneath him. Her heart was speeding, her chest heaving, but the pause allowed them both to draw breath, to consider what had happened. Harry still looked a little wary, as though he wasn't quite able to believe where he was.

"Harry...say something."

"You are quite ridiculously beautiful, did you know?" he said sweetly, brushing a stray hair away from her cheek, which was scarlet from a deep blush. "Do you mind if I just out and stare at you from time to time, without it seeming weird?"

Hermione laughed and tugged Harry back down on to her. She wanted to feel him close again, feel his body heat mingle with her own. She had to slow her heart. If she passed out and missed this moment she might never forgive herself. "You can look at me as much as you like, on one condition."

"Name it," said Harry. "I suppose I should just lay it out there and say that I'll do pretty much anything you ask."

"I want to be able to see _you_," said Hermione, one hand idly playing with his hair, while the other arm hugged him as close as he could get. "I want to see your face, to kiss that wonderful mouth of yours. Even if we have to go somewhere private to do it every time."

Harry brought his arms up and curled them around her shoulders. "I can do that."

For a few minutes they just lay there, quiet and content. It was Harry who broke the companionable silence.

"I'm going to sit with you tonight, spell you to restful sleep," he said. "Don't even think of arguing. I have an errand to run tomorrow, then we are going to talk about these nightmares of yours."

"How do you know..."

"I just do," said Harry. "I didn't just take your physical wounds, you know." He sat up, and pulled her with him. "We _will_ heal that part of you. I promise you that."

Hermione couldn't help it. She leaned in and kissed him again. She knew immediately that all her fears about Harry were right...he was going to become a fucking addiction for her. She could barely stay away from him as it was. She was in so much trouble.

They slowly, reluctantly, broke apart. "What errand do you have to run? Can I come?"

"Are you feeling up to a jaunt outside the wards?" asked Harry. "It's okay if you aren't. It isn't safe out there."

"That goes for you too," said Hermione. "And I have no intention of hiding in here any more than you do. So, where are we going?"

"I have to go and find out how Luna's doing, we haven't heard from her in a while," said Harry casually. "I'm worried she might be in danger now that my secret is out. She's crucial to my and Neville's plan to decimate Riddle."

Hermione was positively aroused at Harry's assertion of _decimation_. He had no idea what his forcefulness did to witches. It was devastatingly alluring. Then she cocked a curious glance at him.

"Luna...does she know you're _alive..._because if she does and didn't tell me...I should warn you I might be liable to kill her!"

Harry barked a laugh at her. "Oh no, but Nev and I have been pulling a few strings behind the scenes for years. Ernie Macmillan was our contact in the wizarding world. He manoeuvered Luna into her role at the DoM and she's been doing some interesting research for us, without ever knowing it. Ernie and Nev used to meet regularly. Nev was gutted when he heard about him being butchered by Malfoy. I don't know if Ernie knew about me for certain, but we are reasonably sure he guessed I was still around. He never did understand why Nev had such an unnatural interest in your well being, when he'd married the witch Ernie considered the most gorgeous woman under the sky."

"Enola is stunning," Hermione agreed.

"She is, but I think you're prettier," said Harry shyly.

Hermione blushed. "Don't be silly, Harry."

"I'm not being silly," he said firmly. He looked at her stoutly, unquestionable truth in his eye, in every line of his face, both wrecked and beautiful parts. It took Hermione's breath away and she flushed hot all over. He actually _meant_ that. How could he mean that? She couldn't pull the truth into her mind at first, but it kept pounding at her from Harry's earnest expression, until she had to submit to it.

"Thank you," she mumbled. It was all she could manage.

"Thank you, for letting me look," he said, blushing himself. His scar went an odd sort of blotchy purple when he blushed. Hermione found it distractingly cute.

"When you go for Luna, can I come then?" she asked, to redirect the conversation.

"Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Absolutely," said Hermione. "Besides, she lived near my old house in Glastonbury. I can show you the way."

"You know you have alert charms on you, yes?" said Harry. "Enola told you she couldn't remove them? The authorities will know pretty quickly if you trigger an alarm."

Hermione nodded. "I know where all the checkpoints are. I used to dodge them for sport when I wanted to escape for some alone time back at the start. Besides, I'm not afraid. I'll be with you. You'll look after me, wont you?"

Her tone was teasing, but Harry's response was serious. "I'll gut the fucking lot of them if they turn up and threaten you."

"No, you'll spare some for _me,_" Hermione replied darkly. "I have a few scores of my own to settle."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her and laughed.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," said Harry. "Its just that...I've often heard the girls say its sexy when I get a bit..._dark. _I never really got that till just now...now I _totally_ understand."

"If you like that dirty talk, wait till we're ready to go to bed," said Hermione huskily. "Enola has been teaching me her bedroom vocabulary."

Harry laughed, almost nervously. "Been anticipating needing a new language, have you?"

Hermione smiled sultrily back at him. "Only since, ooh, about my second day here. Since I decided I would need to christen _my_ new house. You think _your_ rituals are powerful...you wait till you see what I have planned for _you."_

She saw Harry shiver at her words, his eagerness evident in his posture, his glowing skin. But now was too soon, he'd only just consented to kissing. Other things would have to wait.

Hermione just hoped she wouldn't have to wait too long. Though, she thought dreamily, maybe a wedding night _would_ be worth waiting for.


	7. A Lion's Vengeance

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

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Harry hung back out of respect. He knew that Hermione was only taking off her dressing gown, but, as every sinew of his body was aching for her, he didn't trust himself to hold in his control at just this mild display of disrobing. His imagination was vivid enough to fill in the blanks his loins throbbed for, and the energies of the palace were treacherous to what should be a secret intent. Everyone from the lowest under-gardener to his inner circle would know what was on his mind just then.

If they didn't already, of course.

But Harry's composure was being severely tested. His mind raced at what Hermione was doing in the room beyond, no matter how simple an act it was. Not being in sight of her didn't help at all. Without being able to see, he could picture her doing it _teasingly_, as though knowing he was watching or thinking about her. An hour ago, the very idea would have been so absurd that Harry would have laughed it off as a symptom of his delusional mania. He might have been concerned about the depths of his mental instability. But now, he could almost convince himself this preposterous idea might actually be possible.

Especially now that Hermione had kissed him like an enamoured lover.

Harry leaned against the wall and marvelled at the evening. It was his best mother's birthday ever. Harry couldn't wipe the grin off his face, even if it only could cover half of it. Fucking Voldemort and his power curses. Silly cunt. Hermione had _kissed him_. Actually kissed him, with her tongue and everything. _On purpose_. That was something he found extremely hard to conceptualise, even though it had happened less than half an hour previous. The texture of her tongue still clung to the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to lick it off. He wore it like a private badge of honour.

Hermione had _really kissed him!_

He felt like a boy again, ridiculously excited at the burgeoning idea of girls, as though it were a brand new thing. He shouldn't be fluttering inside like this. He'd killed people, conducted dark and dangerous ritual magic, fought the dead and the living and beaten both. He was a tough, ugly, scarred man. Not a lovesick teenager. But that's how he felt. Dizzy and joyously quivery and light-headed and lost and so flustered he couldn't hold his head in place.

And all he wanted to do was hug the girl in the next room forever. Fuck Horcruxes and snake-shagging Dark Wizards. Someone else could deal with that. Only the girl herself didn't want to just hug. She wanted to fight. And that stirred Harry so poignantly that he felt like squealing. He loved Neville, his Brother-In-Blood. He'd enjoyed killing Dark Wizards alongside him. With Enola, too, who killed so flawlessly she made it an art form.

But there was something about the idea of Hermione in battle, killing for him, maybe _defending him_, that speeded Harry's heart to reckless abandon. He couldn't describe it, or why it made him grin so foolishly. And he wasn't ignorant to the way the idea aroused him, either. The very notion of Hermione opening up on someone to protect him...well, there was just that _something_ about it that excited him. Harry couldn't rightly explain it, wasn't sure how to cope with it.

Because there was this hidden element to Hermione's magic that hit him in the stomach and immediately raced lower. If he had been sensible to such things, Harry might have recognised that it _turned him on_. But it had been so many years since _that_ had properly happened that Harry had forgotten what it felt like.

But now, it seemed, Hermione's magic was turning that back on, too.

For her power had taken Harry's breath away during the ritual to destroy McGonagall's Horcrux. Harry had always known she was gifted. Of course she was, this was Hermione, more brilliant than anyone he'd ever known. He knew, even though he'd been too shy to say, that she was clever beyond the books she used to shield her modesty, but he had no idea quite how potent she was. He had struggled to hold her magic steady when he drew it from her, and was reduced to taking only a fraction of the amount he otherwise would have.

And even this was enough to basically overload him. In more ways than he would openly admit.

It was sobering. It devastated all the rituals he'd designed for her, to bring out her natural power. He'd been so careful with them, too, factoring in her astral chart and elemental bias, her zodiac signals and what he hoped was her alchemical role. _That_ at least he was certain of. His mother had been utterly right...she was his _white queen_ in every sense. His soror mystica through and through. Mums always knew best, it would seem.

But Hermione's power level meant Harry would have to redesign everything to account for her, frankly, jaw-dropping magical potential.

Harry was thrilled at that. It set his heart racing at a thunderous tempo. There was so much Hermione didn't yet know, so much he couldn't wait to share with her. She had no idea who she was, or who she _could be_. Who _they_ could be. His own awakening had been so monumental...it brought a smile to his mind just remembering it. It made him laugh to think that a circus conjurer like Tom Riddle would be presumptuous enough to position himself as a threat to that.

Really, Riddle was little more than an irritant in Harry's mind at this point. Like a mild bout of herpes. Harry knew, almost without doubt, that if they met in battle now he'd finish him in minutes. Oh Tom was powerful, frighteningly so. Harry would never let that from his mind. But that didn't make Tom a good fighter. Harry had been to the Welsh Valleys, where the big boys pumped themselves full of steroids and talked a tough game.

Didn't mean they could take a punch.

It was the same in North America. The magic there was potent, but it wasn't the gangster-dressed mages of New York, or the hooded conclaves of the Florida Keys you had to be wary of. It was the ancient magic of the Native Americans, the covens of the Ozarks, the shape shifting witches of Minnesota...they were the ones who'd turn your insides out without so much as a warning shot. Harry had learnt so much from those groups. He was eminently thankful for the lessons they'd taught him...and the help they'd pledged when it was time for his revolution.

A time that was coming fast.

As for Riddle, if it wasn't for the pointlessness of it, Harry would have done him by now. But his own High Dark Death Eaters - cunts like the Lestranges and Dolohov - would have simply killed a random passer-by, used their body mass to reanimate their Dark King with his Last Horcrux, as many times as there were victims to be had. Harry didn't want _their_ blood on his hands. Good, _pure_ blood. He intended to shed so much blood of the evil kind that he doubted the train in the afterlife would accept his spiritual Oyster Card when the time came now.

But so long as Hermione could go, Harry would be okay with that.

Though if, as she'd pledged, she'd kill just as indescriminantly as him, well, they could just roam purgatory together for eternity. There was something to be said for that as a punishment. Harry could live with it. He would need nothing else. The afterlife would be a cheery place, without Dumbledore badgering him constantly, or having to justify a life of misdeeds to his overwrought parents. Just him and Hermione, doing whatever they wanted. Forever. Harry could _definitely_ live with that.

But, for now, he had to deal with Hermione's earthly woes. For, despite the scale of her magical potential, she was so mentally scarred that Harry was heartbroken just trying to process it. He couldn't quite accept it. Because for every bruise from Ron's punches, for all of Hermione's bones he'd shattered and splintered, Ron's real damage went so deep into her mind that Harry was worried he didn't have the power to help her as he'd promised. And he was so earnest when he'd made that vow. He would give all he had not to break it.

But he couldn't even hold her latest nightmare in his head without losing control of his magic. Sally had described it to him. He couldn't bring himself to view the memory she'd secretly pulled, under the guise of checking Hermione for a fever. It had helped her forget the horrors that little bit quicker. Harry was sure she wouldn't hold the violation of her mind against him. He did it for the best.

But just the description was enough to send him frenzied with fury. The image of Hermione, looking so Bludger-stoppingly beautiful, with her hair all done up with bows and sparkles for a party, hair that was pulled and wrenched and actually ripped from her head...it made Harry tear at his own messy locks in anguished frustration.

He could no longer imagine the horrors he would visit on Ron...he hadn't yet devised a retribution suitable enough. He would have to redefine the very concept to accomodate his justice. And with each new snippet of information on his indiscretions...Harry felt he was skirting with the borders of losing his mind. He would make quick work of Tom Riddle, he was set on that.

But with Ron...he would drag that shit out as long as he could.

The lightshades on the walls of the long corridor abrutply shattered as Harry's unrestrained anger burst out of him. He didn't care. Some other fucker could fix them. He wasn't done with breaking things yet anyway. But just then, the door to Hermione's suite was flung open and she was there before him, looking concerned. She pressed her hands to his chest, and he stilled almost instantly.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, worry evident in every line of her face. "I can feel you from in my room! You took it out on my new vase of flowers."

Harry looked down in shame. "Sorry. I'll fix it..."

"What is it?" Hermione pressed gently. What's happened?"

Harry huffed and pulled angrily at his hair. The vision of Ron was swelling in him again, surging through his veins. His magic was building, the pressure throbbing at his temples. The candles in the hall suddenly caught fire as if they were sconces.

Hermione hushed him and drew him close, pulling his head down to her shoulder. Her arms were unfathomably soft and strong. "Calm down, Harry...talk to me."

"I know...I know what you were dreaming of earlier," Harry croaked. He was unbearably furious. He couldn't stop it. "Did...did that really happen? With Ron? After Susan's birthday?"

Hermione stiffened in his arms, before shuddering violently at the memory. Harry had his answer. His anger was so close to erupting he was afraid he couldn't control it, even with Hermione trying to calm him.

"That...that..."Harry spat, grinding his jaw. "That...fucking ginger _cunt_."

Something snapped in the air. It was like a thunderclap. It rolled for about thirty seconds, then suddenly Enola, Neville, Angharad, Myfanwy, and Enola's friend Cassie were crowding in the hall. All had their wands drawn and the combined pulsing power turned the air positively sub-tropical. Neville had cast a powerful Shield Charm around them, encasing them all in a shimmering bubble.

"What's going on?" asked Myfanwy. She looked primed for a fight.

"There's a crack in the main staircase," added Neville.

"And half of my potions ingredients just spontaneously combusted!" chirruped Cassie.

"Sorry, Harry was just having a _moment,_" Hermione explained.

Harry conceded to her as his spokesperson. He was unable to form words through his incendiary wrath. He was actually quite enjoying Hermione threading her fingers rhythmically through his hair to try and sedate him. But the images still roiled within him. He couldn't push them away.

"Was it about a certain red head we wont mention?" asked Neville, quirking a grin at Hermione. "I told you not to say his name here."

"I think the term Harry used was '_fucking ginger cunt',_" she returned evenly.

"Yeah, that's what he normally calls him," said Cassie, pocketing her wand now the danger had passed. "I have a whole cabinet of _FGC_ pain potions that we've designed to use on him. Unless Harry has shattered them all."

Harry guffawed, his anger subsiding slightly. "I told you to magic-proof the room."

"I _did_!" Cassie complained. "Twice!"

"Sorry," Harry shrugged.

"Come on," said Enola, stepping forwards. "There's only one person who can sort Harry out now. But first..."

She drew her wand and delicately drew a containment rune on Harry's forehead, his only bit of exposed skin. He rolled his eye but allowed it. Hermione looked on, and Harry watched her curiously. He wasn't totally sure, but he could have sworn he saw Hermione frown jealously as Enola's magic touched him. It made Harry's insides squirm again, and his anger shirked away a little more.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione. "Who will help Harry?"

"The only person guaranteed to calm him," said Enola. "Can you take us, Sally?"

Enola looked down at the elf, who had appeared between Harry and Hermione's legs. She nodded

"Hold hands," said Sally. Harry, Hermione and Enola obliged. Then Sally placed her long fingers over them and they were Apparated two floors up.

And Harry's rage slipped away like a raspy breeze.

He didn't even hesitate to pull his shawl off. It was a reflexive action, as if the room were in command. Or maybe it was the little girl reaching up for a cuddle. Harry was utterly helpless against her. He crossed the room in three strides and scooped her into his arms. She was the cutest little thing. He'd never quite gotten used to that. Or how _alive_ she was, despite her tininess. She squirmed and wriggled all over, moved ever part of her little body at the same time. Harry couldn't ever wrap his head around her perpetual motion. It was mesmerising.

But at this instant all he felt was shame. Had he woken her? Had his feeble attempt at rage control stolen sleep from her? A thousand curses on him if it had. He hugged her by way of apology, rocked her gently and hoped she didn't hold his anger against him. She didn't seem to. Actually, she appeared to be purring. It was the most relaxing sound. And she smelled of talc. Harry always found that weirdly comforting.

"Well, I...of all the things..."

Hermione had come up to his shoulder, and slipped an arm around him. She was looking at him with the most profound, curious expression. But also the most affectionate one he could imagine. His stomach flipped and rippled as considered what she might be thinking. Or was it what he was thinking? He couldn't process that. His heart might explode at the prospect if he did.

"Alison Longbottom...Lord Potter's calming influence," said Enola, joining them and grinning at the scene. She looked at Hermione's arm, curled around Harry's waist without any sign of him protesting. She knew something had gone on between them, Harry could tell that from the glint in her eyes. But she didn't press the point. "She never fails in her job."

"I'm sorry, En," said Harry, aghast and disgraced. "If I woke her..."

"You didn't," said Enola. "I was just putting her down. I was about to read her a story. She likes to be read to."

Hermione looked over, that curious expression still dancing in her eyes. "Do you...do you mind if _we_ read to her? I'd quite like a bedtime story myself."

Enola flashed her eyes from Harry to Hermione and back again, smiling knowingly.

"That might be lovely," said Enola. "I've been reading to her about _Zoric the Alien._ The book is just on the nightstand. It was one of my favourites as a girl. Just remember to leave the aerial light on for her when you're done."

Enola smiled again and slipped from the room. Harry sat in the large rocking chair near the baby's cot and Hermione picked up the book. She rested her forearms and chin on Harry's knees as he turned baby Alison into a more comfortable cwtching position for her to hear the story. Then Hermione began to read.

Harry tried to listen, to a light tale about giant birds and mice, a lost alien who made a house from an old teapot, and space-saws that went _buzz_. But his mind was scrambled. He couldn't bring his raging thoughts under control. They were all at sea. He was intently focusing on the scene, at once a part of it, but watching from afar all at the same time. If he closed his eye he could almost imagine this was another place, another world...

And another little girl he and Hermione might have been cooing to sleep.

His heart wouldn't stop thudding against his ribs. Hermione's voice was soothing, soporific. Harry realised with a jolt that she was _good_ at this. Natural, an expert without even trying. He was glad he didn't have to speak, as all the words he knew were lodged in his throat and refusing to budge, lest he voice aloud the wild thoughts chasing each other through his mind.

He had to move before his inert desires found life and escaped him. Luckily, baby Alison was as lazy as her father and Harry found she had fallen asleep on his thigh. He drew Hermione's attention silently, and together they moved the sleepy baby down into her crib. Harry tucked a small, stuffed hippogriff into her tiny hands and she clutched at it happily.

Harry looked over at Hermione. Both their hands were on the rim of the cot. Her eyes were aflame without fire. Harry was actually hypnotised by her look, such was its purity. He gulped hard. He dearly longed to know what she was thinking, but at the same time he was sure the knowing might scare him silly. Or kill with him unbridled joy.

"Isn't she _gorgeous_?" Hermione crooned quietly.

"Yeah...she is," said Harry, who wasn't looking at the baby.

Hermione curled her head to look at him. "You'll make a great father," she said confidently.

Harry swallowed again. "What makes you so sure?"

"I just am," Hermione smiled. "The way you are with this one would be enough. But then its how you protect everyone, how fiercely you love. What more could a child want in their dad?"

Harry huffed. "A normal face might be nice. I'll scare any kids I have out of their little minds."

"You don't scare Alison. You wont scare our kids," Hermione retorted on reflex.

She froze, her eyes shooting wide, the echo of her words hanging in the air between them. She looked back to the crib. Harry could see her chest rising and falling as her breathing hitched. Hermione seemed to lack the courage to look at him.

"Would...I mean...is that what you might want? I mean...you know, someday?" Harry asked softly.

Hermione turned to him shyly, as though suspicious her slip hadn't actually made Harry run a mile. She shrugged and smiled so timidly, so adoringly cutely, that Harry actually ached at the sight.

"I didn't till I came here," Hermione eventually replied. "The world outside isn't fit for children. But, well...would you?"

"With you I would," said Harry without ceremony. Hermione gasped and fixed her eyes on him."Sorry...too much?"

Hermione moved and hugged him deeply. "No...nor too soon. Harry...we are _so _going to kill Tom Riddle. Do you think he knows how badly?"

Harry chortled. "I hope not. I want it to be a surprise." They stayed hugging like that for a few minutes longer, neither finding a good enough reason to stop. Until one occured to Harry. "Come on, its time we put you to bed."

"Yes...Dad," Hermione teased. Harry could only grin stupidly at her.

They made their way back downstairs, Harry leaning on Hermione in something of a role reversal. The damage to her hips that Harry had absorbed was a fucking nightmare. He was pretty sure bone was rubbing on bone. Luckily, the nursery was practically above Hermione's suite, so they only had to manage the stairs. Harry looked along the corridor. He shifted awkwardly as he noticed someone had fixed all the broken lightshades. He would owe so many apologies tomorrow.

But for now, his only focus was on Hermione. Oddly, the very act of her holding open the door to her bedroom suite made Harry's insides do somersaults. Then there was the idea of him leading her to bed. That was an entirely new sensation that he would have to properly deconstruct later. Tucking her in was just beyond his understanding of life or his vocabulary. It lodged his heart in his throat as he tried to be as delicate as he could with her. And the sweet look in her eyes...he couldn't even hold her gaze with it. It muted the world for a moment.

Then he was back to task, trying to master his trembling fingers. He conjured a set of quartz crystals with his wand. Each one was pale pink and humming lowly with their own vibrational frequency. Hermione watched with immense curiosity as Harry took each one in turn, held it in the palm of his hand for several minutes and charged it with his intent. Soon they were all throbbing with it.

"What are you doing to them?" Hermione asked breathily. She was flushed crimson. Harry shrunk back. He'd not controlled that bothersome arousal aspect of his magic. Hermione was bound to think of him as some sort of pervert if he carried on. He wondered if he should apologise.

"Just...just powering them with a spell...to pull any negative dreams from you," Harry explained in a small voice. "They will be trapped in the crystals. Quartz is good for that."

"How do you know?"

Harry stiffened. "These are mine."

Hermione looked up in wide-eyed shock. "You...you use these?" Harry nodded guiltily. "Oh, _Harry_...but wont you need them?"

"I'll be alright. You need them more." said Harry. "Besides, I'm used to nightmares. My days are full of them. Well, except for today. I think that might actually help me sleep."

Hermione smiled, her eyes sparkling. "If that's all you need...I'd better kiss you a lot more."

Harry grinned at her. "I'll hold you to that. Here, take this."

Harry reached into his robe and drew out a large golden coin on a chain. He gently hung it on the back of Hermione's headboard. She sucked in a breath as she saw it.

"Your DA coin?"

Harry nodded. "Its covered in a layer of citrine. Keeps your mind clear. It will help you drift off."

Hermione frowned at him. "You're giving me all these because you don't intend to sleep tonight, do you?"

Harry chuckled. "Its too soon for you to read me like one of your books. Speaking of which, I haven't shown you round the library yet. I'm sure you'll approve. You inspired it."

"Don't try and distract me," said Hermione, obviously distracted. "Harry..."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to tuck a stray hair behind Hermione's ear. "Hermione...I've waited for the longest time for what happened between us tonight. I honestly never thought it would. There's no way I will be able to sleep. I'm afraid if I sleep I might wake up and find it never happened at all."

Hermione looked so tenderly at him Harry had to avert his eye. "Is that really the truth?"

"I know of no other way to speak to you," said Harry. "Don't be cross. I came back from the afterlife for this night. I want to enjoy it."

"Can't I enjoy it with you?"

Harry smiled. "Next time. I have to be by myself tonight. Find a way to make myself believe this is real. That _we_ are really happening. We are...aren't we?"

Harry looked suddenly petrified. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his panicked expression. "Of course we are, silly. We can pick a name for whatever we are when we find one that fits."

Harry sighed and relaxed. "Okay. But for now, you need to sleep."

Harry pulled up a chair and drew his wand. Hermione's eyes flashed to it quickly. Harry saw the look before she could prevent in. A look of unparalled terror. Harry might as well have pulled a cat-o'nine-tails on her. His entire body shifted in anger at what that meant. He dropped his wand on impulse.

"Hermione...I...I'm sorry...I didn't think..."

Hermione let out a strangled breath. "It's my fault, Harry. Its just..."

Her words tailed off. Harry cautiously moved close and hugged her. Hermione gasped. Harry knew why. It was the first hug he had initiated. It surprised her. Harry found her response a little startling, but exciting at the same time. She didn't resist. She liked Harry hugging her first. He would have to do this more often.

"Nothing that happened to you was your fault," Harry whispered soothingly. Hermione's breath hitched and she spluttered out a sob. Harry hugged her tightly. "I'll look after you now. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you."

"I know. I trust you, Harry."

"I don't need a wand for this magic," he said. "Just feel my energy. Take it in. It will protect you."

The air of the room was dense as Harry forced his magic to heave out of him. Wandless magic hurt so much. It was sheer agony. Like pushing out acid from your pores. But Hermione needed it, so Harry ground his teeth and bore his self-harm. For what was a bit of pain for Hermione's peace of mind, for her rest? Nothing at all. Harry willed his power out of himself, commanded it to help Hermione, to recognise her as friendly and do as she needed. He didn't know it had worked till he heard her snore into his shoulder some time later.

Harry slid from the bed and collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, totally spent. His skin was soaked with sweat and, as his magic receded, he knew he wouldn't make it back to his room without aid. He summoned Rhian, made her cast a spell on Hermione for dreamless sleep, then had her Apparate him to his room with no more than the lightest of _pops_. It took a little more than light persuasion to get her to leave him be.

Harry loved his elves, but they could be immensely trying. He did allow Rhian to fetch him a pepper-up potion from Cassie's stores, but then insisted he be left to his own recuperation.

Harry checked, re-checked, then checked again that Rhian had actually gone. He even swept a spell over the room to make sure she wasn't just hiding, or making herself invisible. She was apt to resorting to such tricks to keep an eye on her stubborn Master. When he was satisfied that he was quite alone, he locked the door to his top-floor suite and moved into his bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the picture of Hermione on his nightstand. It was from the day of Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding. Harry had coaxed Neville to get Ernie MacMillan to 'acquire' a picture of Hermione for him, without raising too many suspicions. In hindsight, it probably raised every red flag there was.

He never asked how he actually got it, but Harry didn't care. He had the picture and that was all that mattered. And Hermione looked so shockingly beautiful that all Harry had to do was glance at it for his mood to improve. Every time he did he tried to remember why he hadn't been so mesmerised by her that day, when he was actually there. Why it had taken so long, and a near-death experience, to fully appreciate just how beautiful a girl Hermione really was.

He knew the reason was distinctly Weasley-shaped.

But he didn't want to dwell on that. He'd broken enough things on their account for one night. So he dwelt on the picture instead, let his eyes linger on Hermione's slender form a little longer than he'd normally permit. The moving photo was the one indulgence he'd allowed himself for the past few years - but he didn't want to besmirch it by taking liberties with the time he was consented to look.

Her dress that day had been cut to form, and it accentuated all her loveliness. Harry feasted on her image. He had to remember to breathe. He recalled Dumbledore once telling him how men had wasted away before the Mirror of Erised. He could certainly relate, could certainly imagine wasting away before this moving vision of elegant beauty before him.

Then she did something she'd never done before, and blew him a kiss.

Harry was so taken aback by the action that if anyone had happened upon him they might have thought he'd been hit by Petrificus Totalus. Hermione's picture always acted the same. It waved at him, smiled, perhaps gave a twirl or a curtsey to show off her dress. But she never blown kisses. Why had it changed? Harry was deeply fascinated by it. It brought a speeding thrum to his pulse and warmed his chest. It was the most insanely cute thing he could imagine.

Then his chest ached for an entirely different reason and he remembered why he'd dismissed Rhian so firmly. He didn't know which of Ron's blows had caused this particular injury to Hermione, but a hairline fracture to the sternum more than hinted at the severity of the assault. Harry scowled at the thought. Then he gave Hermione's picture one last, slightly bewildered look and crossed the room to his bookcase.

Harry checked that he was alone one more time out of habit. He reached up to the third book from the right, on the second shelf down, and gave it a tug. Then he stepped back as the bookcase swung away from the wall to reveal a hidden room. Harry limped inside and pulled the bookcase-door closed behind him.

The room was small and perfectly circular. It was dimly lit; dust swirled in the air disturbed by the opening door, making it seem like the whole place was suffused with a soft, milky mist. There was no sound. Harry stepped forward and shed his robe, tossing it onto a rail that was off to one side. He shivered as the first draught of cold licked his skin.

"A bit of fire, please Lily."

The phoenix emerged from a gout of flame, which ignited a fire pit in the heart of the room. Harry closed his eye as the heat washed over his skin like a renewing tide. Lily fluttered to a golden perch near Harry, and trilled in contentment as he scratched her head. Harry completely disrobed and moved to the centre of the room, where he began drawing hot water into the deep bathtub that dominated the space there.

Next to the bath a large, ornate cabinet sat proudly as the only other piece of furnishing in the room. Harry tapped the doors of it, which eased open to reveal a collection of antique equipment, beautifully preserved and infused with a deep power that Harry felt rumble in his own skin.

They'd once belonged to Nicolas Flamel. Harry had acquired them in a game of poker, played in a seedy, backstreet Paris revue bar. Harry hadn't exactly played fair. But he'd hunted all over Europe for this set of items - he wasn't about to let some gnarled old Norwegian warlock hold onto some of the most powerful magical relics in the world, now was he.

Not when he had such a greater use in mind for them.

There was a still, an alembic, an athanor. The tools of the Master Alchemist, and shelves that groaned under the weight of the fruit born by the labour of this most difficult art.

Harry wasn't quite the Master he wanted to be just yet. He hadn't been studying alchemy for nearly long enough to make that claim. But he was pretty efficient as it was. So he should be, it was his birthright after all. He was a Potter, a master of fire, the ultimate transmuting substance. He hadn't quite managed to turn lead all the way to gold just yet, and the creation of a Philosopher's Stone was a lifetime away, but he had a small quantity of silver as proof of his burgeoning skill.

Silver he intended to use to forge Hermione's engagement ring.

The thought made him grin stupidly to himself. He put the thought away for now, and reached into the cabinet for a vial of silvery liquid. _Mercurial Water_, a by-product of the albedo stage of the process. It was good for soothing deep wounds, but only of the person who created it, which in this case was himself. He would have given his entire supply if it might have helped Hermione, but it wouldn't have had any greater effect than the average bubble bath. He didn't have much left anyway.

"Going to have to get brewing soon," he said to Lily, before tipping the contents of the vial into the bath. The water turned a pearly sort of champagne colour. "The next full moon is in a few days. I think you and I better make it a date night. I hope you'll share your tears with me."

Lily sang out her affirmation. Then she continued to trill.

Harry considered her song thoughtfully. "No, I think its a bit early to involve her in this. One thing at a time, eh?"

Lily sang again, more crossly this time.

"Hey, don't get sassy with me," said Harry, frowning at her. "Give the poor girl a break. She has enough to acclimatise to as it is."

Lily mewled sadly for a minute.

"I know, and I'm glad you like her," Harry replied, slipping into the bath. "I like her too. A lot. But I still have to be patient with her. You can go to her whenever you want. I don't mind, and I'm sure Hermione wont either. She's quite taken with you, in case you hadn't noticed."

Lily hopped up and down on her perch, her notes returning to something far more lyrical.

"Of course I know how lovely she is, and how powerful," said Harry in agreement. "I think she'll be crucial to our completion of the Opus. I don't want the gold, but I think the Elixir might be the only substance powerful enough to cleanse her of those mental scars. They run so deep, Lil...I just can't stand to think of her carrying that around."

Harry sank into the depths of his bath water, the alchemical solution immediately targeting his aching wounds. He moaned as the pain eased. Lily began a new aria, one that was just for Harry. He opened his magic and absorbed it, letting Lily's healing force sweep through him.

"Thank you," he croaked. She hissed at him, as though insulted that he felt the need to thank her for something she did for him so naturally, so willingly. "I'm sorry. Come here."

Lily stomped her talons and pouted.

"Lily..."

The phoenix gave in to Harry's gentle chiding and soared over to him, perching herself on his shoulder. He smoothed her feathers to pacify her.

"You know, being a diva is quite unbecoming," Harry teased with a smirk. Lily squawked at him. It might have masked a swear word or two. Harry chuckled at her. "So, have I been formally replaced as your most favourite person?"

Lily didn't reply.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Its okay. I forgive you. She's my favorite person, too."

Lily nipped him affectionately on the ear.

"Will you watch over her for me tonight? Rhian's spells are powerful, but I'd be happier knowing she had company."

One flash of fire later and Harry was quite alone again. That's when he curled down into the bath, cradled into himself and let out all his hurt.

And it was enough to reduce him to tears.

Hermione's stolen pains aside, the effort of his wandless magic earlier just an added extra, Harry's own personal wounds were beyond repair. His scars were just the surface evidence. He had been hit with the Darkest Magic in creation. The Killing Curse. Not one for the good or faint-hearted. It had struck him twice, coursed through his being and attempted to deprive him of life. Failure or not, that had left an indelible mark on him.

He hurt. All the time. All over, inside and out. He wasn't supposed to have survived those curses. No-one was. The partial-immunity his parents had given him to Tom Riddle's magic was well intentioned, but nothing could eradicate the effects of the world's most evil spell. Harry had survived, but he was scarred by the experience. And the ones on his face were nothing to how he suffered inside.

It was only Enola's potent spellwork that kept him sane, that reduced the black burning in his veins to background noise. She hadn't healed him, but she'd made his body avoid facing the pain, or as much as it could. Her Magic of Ignorance, as they'd come to dub it. If Harry didn't allow his body to know it was in pain, he wouldn't have to suffer so much from the feeling of it. It was a patch-up job, it would get him through the day.

Then at night, when no-one was watching, he could let out his hurt in secret.

This was the chamber he designed just for the purpose. His workshop, alchemically sealed, hidden from the rest of the palace. Only Lily even knew the room was here. Harry made a habit of disappearing, so when he felt the need to dive in here and let out his anguish he wouldn't be questioned. It was a useful disguise.

And tonight his need was great. He unplugged the bath with his toes. The last thing he wanted on the day he kissed Hermione was to go and drown himself in the bath. The water sped away, leaving Harry damp and shivery on the bottom of the vast tub. Hugged up in the foetal position, powerless against the waves of searing pain flooding through him. He would just have to ride it out, as he'd done countless times before. He took a steadying breath and closed his eye.

He was in for a long night.

* * *

It was past noon when Hermione finally rose the next day. She felt obscenely relaxed. But there was guilt with that, for sleeping so well, when Harry had forfeited his own so that she might get a restful night. She was eminently grateful for his kindness. She would have to tell him so later.

And it had definitely earned him a kiss or two.

Hermione was half wild just thinking about that. She was now able to _kiss_ Harry, as much as she wanted. It was just the most incredible thing. She hadn't coveted such affections for the longest time, and thankfully Ron had stopped forcing kisses from her after the first year of their sham marriage, so she hadn't had to endure them for years.

But now she was just madly excited about the very idea of kissing. When she'd been younger, she often kissed the back of her fist and pretended it was Harry. It was honestly as close as she thought she'd ever get to the real thing. Now, she clenched that same fist into the folds of her fluffy quilt, attempted to accept a world in which kissing Harry was normal, then fought with the urge to scream out as this amazing notion consumed her. It was bouncing around her heart like a manic pinball.

Kissing Harry wasn't normal. Hermione couldn't call it that. It was simply too monumental for it to be so easily compartmentalised. For it was the most satisfying kind of surreal that Hermione could imagine.

She wondered where he was right now. Her mind trained on that spot in the world that he might be just then. And she wondered if he was thinking about her. She almost squeaked at the thought, her mind racing a mile a minute at the possibilities _that_ threw up. She smiled broadly to herself and hoped he'd come to see her first when he got back.

For she knew he wasn't home. There was just something about the air of the palace, a coolness in the hum of energy she was starting to become so familiar with. When Harry was around, it felt different. Warmer somehow, charged with a different vibration. She felt its comfort in her very veins. When Harry was home, there was just this unmistakable sense of wholeness about the place.

Hermione thrilled wildly at that idea, too. _Home_. This was her home now. And not in some vague sense, either. This whole palace was _hers_, or one day it might become hers. She'd be able to call the beautiful gardens and rooms her own, become as familiar with them as she was Hogwarts, or her childhood house. Her home or, more precisely, _her and Harry's home_. That was a thought she couldn't keep still in her mind very long.

And the idea that they might raise their children here someday just flipped her over the edge.

She wanted to dance with the joy of it. And she was never one for dancing. So instead she just curled her toes inside her socks and rocked onto the balls of her feet and tried to contain these waves of unbridled elation. She didn't know what she was supposed to do with such emotions. She wasn't used to them. She had no idea how she was meant to cope feeling like this. Feeling so ridiculously happy. It was making her giddy.

So she just jumped up out of bed and crossed to her favourite window, flopped her head onto her hands, perched on the windowsill, and marvelled at the morning outside. Everything was sitting pretty on her.

She drank in the elegant beauty of the gardens, dappled in beaming sunshine. Several elves were tending vines and pruning the hedgerows. Hermione watched them awhile, revelling in their work, taking utmost care with Harry's plants and flowers. With _our_ plants and flowers, Hermione's heart whispered to her. She flushed madly and shook her head in wonder at the notion. She looked further out, and saw the trellises of the Mausoleum, gilded by the morning sun. And the memories of the previous night suddenly raced to the tip of Hermione's mind.

She was still rattled by the way Harry had kissed her. It was beyond passionate. But there had been something nervous and needy there, too. Understandable, really, considering how he'd built up this silly idea of how she was going to react so badly to him. She wondered how long it would be before he dropped those fears. Ages, probably. That didn't matter so much, not if her kisses were the only tonic he needed. She had plenty of those in store for him.

And, just like that, her addiction for him struck like a blow to the head. He'd been away from her for far too long, and gone somewhere without telling her. He wasn't allowed to do that anymore. Hermione frowned crossly.

She left the window and crossed her bedroom. It was still something to be able to move without discomfort. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt. Liberating, but taken for granted. Poor Harry. Poor, silly, lovely Harry. She didn't deserve what he'd done for her. She thought she should have offered to share the pain, maybe take some of his in return. It was a laughable notion, for Harry only ever gave of himself, never took from others. Unless that taking would be for their benefit.

A benefit Hermione was revelling in now.

She felt unspeakably lucky in that moment. It was an odd sensation. Distinctly alien. Luck had been something that she was sure had abandoned her, on that fateful May night at Hogwarts, surrounded by corpses and their killers. She retained a shred of hope for the next six months, until the cleansing of the magical world hit full speed.

Then that shred became a speck on her wedding day. When no-one had offered up a single objection to her marriage to Ron, when she had so many herself. She could have lent someone one. But no-one stepped forward and that ring, one size too small, was jammed onto her finger, condemning her to years of misery and abuse.

It hadn't started right away. At least, not the physical side. Ron was always adept at mental torture, it was just built-in to his nature. He displayed this skill flagrantly during their school years, constantly putting her down and belittling her. Hermione only truly recognised that now, in this haven away from it, with Harry as her immovable defender from Ron's attacks. A role, she also accepted, he'd always fulfilled, if not quite so vitriolically as he did now. He'd always been there for support, to build her up when Ron tore her down. Vaunting her qualities, championing her to anyone who might need to know. She remembered Horace Slughorn telling her once how Harry gushed about her. She hadn't believed it at the time.

But, oh, how she wished she had now! Things might have been so different.

She might not have suffered so. Ron's 'courtship', such as it was, had been founded on lies and deceit. He pursued her under the guise of protection, claiming his intentions were to keep her out of the hands of Voldemort's Agencies, ones tasked with the purification of Magical Britain. Hermione could never have guessed he was actually part of these same evil forces. Seduced by promises, drunk on dominance of the weak, enriched by stolen gold and wealth. Finally, he was _someone_, no matter how dubious the powers were that made him so. It wasn't something he was likely to give up.

And it was only a matter of time before Hermione's protests led to him putting her in her place. Violently so. And that hated ring on her finger made the whole thing _legal_.

Hermione looked down at it, still cruelly glued just above her knuckle. She pulled angrily at it, as she had done so many times before. But it was fruitless. The thing was stuck by magic, only removable once the marriage was officially over. It was a constant reminder of her connection to Ron, his control over her. The thought drained all colour from her face.

"Sally!"

The elf popped into view. "Lady Hermione," she said, her voice concerned at Hermione's panicked tone. "What be wrong?"

"Where's Harry?"

"Master Harry not home," said Sally.

"I know _that_," said Hermione, a little impatiently. "But do you know where he is?"

Sally shook her head, making her ears slap noisily against her cheeks. "No, Lady Hermione. Master Harry not be telling Sally such things. Sally thinks he must be gone somewhere dangerous, though."

Hermione felt her heart stumble a moment. "Dangerous? What makes you say that?"

"Missus Angharad and Missus Myfanwy slip out after Master Harry this morning," said Sally. "If they gone together, it be for something dangerous. If they _following_ him, it be even more dangerous. Master Harry always be doing the most dangerous things by hisself, without telling anyone. So the girls be having to stalk him."

Hermione gasped. Harry in danger? It was the most abhorrent idea. She knew he could look after himself, but now, after last night, things had irrevocably changed for her. Hermione found this the most frightening concept imaginable. She got up and began to pace, pulling at her dressing gown in anguished frustration.

"Master Harry be alright," said Sally confidently. "Lady Hermione need not worry."

"How can I not worry!" Hermione shrieked. "I need him and he's going to get himself killed!"

"Lady Hermione! Sally insist you calm yourself. Do you need Calming Draught? Sally can fetch..."

"I don't need any drugged potions!" Hermione yelped. "I need Harry!"

"Master Harry will come back to his favouritest witch," said Sally calmly. Hermione was stilled slightly. "Master Harry love his Lady too much to want her to worry."

Hermione stopped completely and stared at Sally. It was the first time she'd ever described Harry's feelings for her as _love_. It dissolved all her frustrations, but made her heart drum under her ribs in a different sort of fashion. It may have dispelled all her latent anguish, but did turn her a nice sunburnt-style shade of crimson.

Hermione flopped back down in her chair. "I just wish he'd tell me where he goes."

"Lady Hermione be asking too much, just now to be sure," said Sally sagely. "Master Harry used to being alone, going solo. It be new for him, to have his Lady here to worry about him. But he learn in time. Maybe not _change_, but he learn. He still just a man, need to _learn_ how to learn. Lady Hermione need not worry...Master Harry be a total arse-kicker. He be fine. But what you need him for?"

_What don't I need him for?_ Hermione thought, a little wildly. This obsession with him was becoming dangerously like a dependency.

"I just have some concerns about my safety," said Hermione. "I want to ask Harry something about the palace protections."

"I fetch Lady Longbottom," said Sally. "She know all about it. She stop you worries."

And, without brooking any opposition, she popped away. Hermione shook her head at her funny little helper.

In the silence, Hermione resolved to master her worries, as Harry did. She crossed to the bed and took the quartz crystals he'd given her in her hand. Their resonance had faded slightly since last night. When Harry had placed them around her bed she'd felt their combined buzz like the thrum of a jet engine. Now, their energy was just a ripple, licking at her own essence like a sleepy kitten.

Hermione had noticed that lately, how her energy was engaging with the world around her more. This, she supposed, was a result of being exposed to ritual magic for the first time. She was just more actually aware of external energies now, and the understanding of them was growing more pronounced every day. It was an utterly fascinating new experience.

Hermione studied the crystals. The great academian in her was enthused by the challenge of finding out how they worked. She closed her eyes, as she'd seen Harry do, tried to focus on that subtle wave of energy they were emitting. She could almost grab it, but it was tantalisingly beyond her reach. It was like trying to catch a cloud. She looked at them again. Pale pink for the most part, but every now and then, a shot of black passed over them. And every time they did, Hermione felt a tinge of shock in her chest.

And, as if on instinct, she knew what those dark masses were.

These were _Harry's_ healing crystals. This is where he trapped his nightmares, his fears, held fast till a time he felt strong enough to face them. Those dark shapes could be anything - his doubt, his self-consciousness, his hatred for his enemies. All held in these prisms of stone. Hermione suddenly appreciated a whole new depth to Harry's intense life. He had such horrors in it, they were beyond his control in the conventional sense. So he had turned to ancient powers, old forms of magic, runes and ritual and ceremony, all so that he might get through another day with his mind intact. Hermione's heart bled at the very notion that Harry needed to take such measures just to cope.

And these crystals were yet another part of it. Harry was innately tuned to them. Hermione was certain of that. They _felt_ like him, or perhaps _of him_, would be a better way to describe it. Hermione was confident that if she was given them randomly she would be able to sense his signature in them. It was akin to his scent, or that ephemeral sense of his presence that Hermione found so intoxicating now. She just _felt_ him, in everything he influenced.

In much the same way, she reasoned, that Harry knew which Horcruxes were real, living pieces of Voldemort's fractured soul.

The thought startled her. She had been awestruck by Harry's immediate recognition of the signature on the Horcrux made from poor Minerva McGonagall. She marvelled at the power he wielded to do it. But now, sat here with his crystals in her hand, she felt she had that power, too. She was beyond modesty as she considered it. Did that mean she might be able to do all the ridiculously impressive things that Harry could? Did she have it in her to be as powerful and masterful as he? Would that...would it make her his _equal_? A partner worthy of him?

But Merlin she thought it might.

Hermione laughed at that and felt a lot calmer. It was an odd reaction, she thought, but the joy of the notion had simply exploded out of her. The door to the suite opened just then and Enola came in with Sally. She was carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. Hermione noticed they belonged to one of her outfits, a silk blouse and jeans combo. But Enola was making alterations to them. There were strips of scaly hide being sewn into the linings of both garments. And the hem of the jeans was glowing under the influence of powerful runes, which had been pressed into the fabric.

"Sally said you needed me," said Enola, depositing the clothes onto Hermione's vanity table and joining her on the bed. "What's wrong? Sally made it sound like you were having some sort of panic attack."

Hermione laughed again. "Oh, no, it was nothing like that. I was just a little concerned about this fucking wedding ring I can't remove."

Enola grinned at her. "Thinking you might need a replacement soon, eh?"

Hermione froze, startled. "I...er...well, no...that's not what I meant at all..."

Enola barked out a laugh as Hermione flushed beetroot. "Oh, _come on,_ Min! No need to act so coy. I was watching you and Harry last night with my baby. Literally, I thought the room was going to melt. I could feel Harry's happiness half the floor away. It was quite stunning. Just remember our deal."

"What deal?"

"The one where you give me a heads up before you shag him," said Enola. Sally giggled next to them. "Aside from the fact that I don't want my baby caught up in the inferno - that will be you two burning the palace down with your passion - us girls have a little wager going on for how long it will be till it happens. I could use the extra money."

Hermione laughed again and stopped fighting her blush. "I'll do my best. But I have a feeling it will just happen. And I don't intend to stop in the throes of it to give you a blow-by-blow update."

"Well...perhaps that's a little more _detail_ than I need..." Enola grinned suggestively.

"Ennie!" Hermione admonished playfully.

"Okay, okay," Enola conceded, grinning cheekily. "But if it isn't Harry making an honest woman out of you in the next week or so, what's the issue with the ring?"

Hermione offered her the offending hand. "It just occurred to me earlier that this still connects me to Ron. It will till we divorce or he dies. Hopefully the latter. But, I was thinking, it means he can track me, doesn't it? The Marriage Bond allows him to know where I am at all times if he wants to, especially since the Reforms. If he finds me here...if I'm the one who brings danger to this place...to all of you...and I put you at risk...or Alison...or Harry..."

Enola held up her hand to still Hermione mid-rant. "Min, Min...sshhh. We are quite safe here. Don't you remember what my Nev told you when you first arrived? Harry protected this place with ancient Celtic magic, in a Welsh runic dialect that is inherent to his own family. No-one, not Ron, not Riddle, not the Muggle Child Support Agency would be able to find you here. Harry's magic has made this place, for all intents and purposes, off the map. You might as well be on the Moon for all the chance there is of you being found."

Hermione visibly relaxed. Then she quelled again. "But what about if I leave the boundary? Wont the tracking charm be activated?"

"Probably, if Ron is even looking," said Enola. "But that's why I'm making some alterations to an outfit for you."

She nodded at the pile of garments heaped on the table nearby.

"Ennie...what _are_ you doing to those clothes?"

"Preparing them," said Enola, moving herself back to Hermione's vanity table.

"Preparing them?" Hermione queried. "What for?"

"For you. Harry tells me you are going to leave the wards tonight," said Enola. "I don't want you to go, Min. You aren't ready. But I also know you're as stubborn as a hippogriff with an attitude complex. So I'm armouring up some of your clothes for battle. There's a nice pair of Thestral hide gloves in there. Useful material that, can be manipulated to make things only visible under the right conditions and to the right people. It will mask the spell on that bothersome piece of tin on your finger. Please, will you wear them for me? It'll give me such a piece of mind."

Hermione shivered involuntarily. Enola's worry was quite sincere. It made things suddenly very real. Hermione felt the air thicken and congeal, become charged as if before a thunderstorm. It settled heavy on her chest.

"I...I'll be okay. I'll be with Harry," she stammered. Her words were framed almost as a question.

"He can't have eyes everywhere," said Enola fearfully. "And he's a bit stunted in that department as it is. Just do this for me. If you got hit by a stray curse..."

Hermione was touched. She couldn't help but be. She had only known Enola a few weeks but she had grown very fond of her. It was warming to know the sentiment was returned.

"I'll be careful," said Hermione. "Harry needs me."

"Far more than you know," said Enola. There was something undeniably cryptic in her tone. "If anything were to happen to you, I don't know how he'd cope. Just do me a favour, wear these clothes. And, for Merlin's sake, stay close to Harry when you're out there. Don't separate...for any reason."

"We wont."

"And I mean that long-term, too," said Enola, grinning. Hermione blushed.

"I'm serious," Enola went on. "About all of it. Don't separate now you are together. Harry's never had a happy glint in his eye before. But I didn't realise how much it suited him till I saw it there. Till _you_ put it there. But when he takes you out later, don't leave his side. You're safe as long as you're there."

"I'll stay close to him, I promise," said Hermione faithfully. "But En, if anyone bad shows up...how will Harry expect me to fight? How _should _I fight? I mean, have you?"

"Fought? Yeah, I've fought plenty of times," said Enola simply. "I was part of a triumvirate of Acolyte Warriors with Fan and Ann, till Alison came along. I killed with them, defended our coven and then our Order, and then Harry. As for how _you_ should fight...well, that's something only you can decide."

"And what are my criteria?"

Enola put down her sewing. "Min...this is a war. Harry probably wont want you to see the warrior side of him. It's his darkest face. If you run into trouble, he'll kill indiscriminately to protect you. Wont even bat an eyelid doing it. Then he'll face the impact of that later. But he wont Disarm. He isn't looking to subdue or take prisoners, to Stun someone only for them to come back and fight again. He'll put them down, either for good or so damaged that they aren't a threat anymore. And, not to mean this as a burden for you, if _you_ are directly threatened, then the one responsible wont live long enough to regret doing so. But Harry's acclimatised to that. Experienced at it. _You_ aren't. Only you can decide what your conscience can take."

Hermione considered that a moment. She was angry with all that had happened to her, and she'd talked hotly about getting vengeance, a reckoning with her torturers. But now she was on the cusp of it, she hesitated. Could she do it, or live with herself if she did? Could she hurt, maim..._kill_, if it came to it? If Harry was hurt, his back turned, blindsided, double-teamed...what would she do? How would she react?

The answer came to her shudderingly quickly. It made her angry at herself that she was ever in doubt. It was blindingly obvious. She would rip a fucking hole in the world, or shatter time itself, if it meant protecting _Harry_. And she would do it with a smile on her face, then piss on her enemies' ashes.

Enola saw the answer in Hermione's eyes, and her own glinted maliciously in like-minded reflection. "I miss the fighting, I really do. Harry always favoured blasting curses, slicing hexes. Things that did real damage to limbs and flesh. He developed this version of the Incendio Spell, where his wand sends out a chain of fireballs so hot that they literally burn through anything they touch. That's a sight to see."

"Wow," said Hermione.

"Just remember this," Enola went on, "when Harry knew you were in danger from Malfoy, he literally lost his shit. And I _mean_ lost it. That display of rage last night was _nothing_ compared to how he was then. I was terrified of Harry _that_ night. I don't know what he did to Malfoy and his minions when he caught up to them, but there were _nine_ of them at the start. Neville said less than half left your flat alive. And none of them were _whole_. And Harry did more damage to himself in his fury, than any of them did to him. Nev said..."

Enola tailed off. She'd said too much, her guilty expression betrayed that. But the words were out.

"Neville said what?" Hermione pressed. Enola wrung her hands and looked pained. "Ennie..."

"Harry...sort of..._went wild_...against himself," said Enola, her expression avoidant. "He was so upset that you were almost hurt...so convinced that he'd failed you again...that he...well, he _attacked_ himself."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror. "What do you mean, _attacked himself_?"

"I don't know, exactly," said Enola. "That's the truth. Neville never told me the whole story. All he said was that Harry used his magic to trap himself in a cage, b-before turning on himself, as a punishment. It only stopped when he lost consciousness through...through the blood loss."

Hermione let out a shocked sob. Tears followed quickly. Her poor _Harry! _Why would he do such terrible harm to himself? Over her, no less. The panic drove her mindless a moment, as she tried to picture it. Or _not_ picture it. It wasn't an image she wanted anywhere near her mind. She knew he hurt enough as it was, she hated to think how deep it went. Enola hurried over to her, drawing her into a comforting hug.

"There's more I don't know, isn't there?" Hermione sniffed. "Things he isn't telling me?"

Enola didn't reply, but the way her body tensed was answer enough.

"How bad is it?" Hermione demanded.

Enola sighed. "Whatever the worst is that you can imagine, its worse even than that by degrees. That's why I'm dead serious about not separating. You are the best thing that I've ever seen happen to Harry. He smiles through the pain, maybe even forgets it or doesn't feel it at all. If he_ can_ ever be healed, it will be something beyond _my _skill...and all about yours. You make him better in a way I never can. He's so much improved already. Please, don't stop."

"I wont, I promise," Hermione croaked.

"And don't think badly of Harry for acting darkly in battle," Enola added. "For he is dark in that environment. It's all for you, but try not to hold his actions against him if it shocks you."

Hermione sat up and scoffed angrily. "I will never think badly of Harry. Not ever. Not for anything. But_ you_ are going to tell me everything about Harry's internal darkness, including this mindscape you created together. This isn't a request, either. Harry might not want you to tell me, might not let me in willingly, but I _will_ go there and fight his demons for him, whether either of you like it or not. So _you will_ tell me what I need to know to do it."

Enola smiled bracingly. "His Queen, through and through. I could never have dreamt you more worthy of him. I'll do as you ask, when the time is right. I so approve of you."

Hermione smiled back. "I like you to, Enola. Now, lets get back to sewing my outfit. I have a wounded man to look after out there."

* * *

They were ready at eight o'clock. Harry knocked on Hermione's door and she opened to him. She looked like she wanted to hug him. Something had happened, or she knew something she hadn't last time they met. Harry wasn't sure he liked the pained, slightly desperate look in her eyes. It wasn't much better than the fear he expected to see there. Or maybe it was just different.

And Harry wasn't sure if different was good or bad in this case.

"What is it?" he asked, guiding her back into the room. They would have to deal with this first. It wouldn't do to be so distracted out in the dangerous world.

"Its nothing," said Hermione.

"You're lying to me," said Harry, genuinely surprised.

"No, not lying," said Hermione. "Just avoiding the truth."

"Hermione..."

She suddenly flung her arms around him, knocking the wind from his lungs. "Oh, _Harry..._what have you been doing to yourself!"

"Breathing...before this," he huffed. "What's going on?"

"Its just...Enola has been telling me about the things...those things that you carry around in your mind," said Hermione.

"Oh she _has_, has she?" said Harry, his ire stirring. "What exactly has she been saying?"

"Nothing I didn't force from her," said Hermione firmly. "You can't be angry with her. I wont let you be."

"And since when do you get to dictate to me?"

"Since we fell in love and you gave me that power. I give it to you in return. Just saying."

Harry's heart hammered and he almost fell apart at the declaration. It was the first time it had been phrased so succinctly. He couldn't stop picturing the words, or the grin they spawned.

"Oh, well...since you put it _that way,_" he teased, eventually. "It really isn't fair that you can calm me so easily. I'm supposed to be mad over here."

"Save it for the Death Eaters," said Hermione darkly. "I am."

"And what are you mad at?"

"You!" she squealed. "For holding so much darkness inside and not letting me help fight it. I'm going to, you know. You aren't alone anymore, Harry, you do know that? _We_ aren't alone anymore. Me and you...we're one, now. Your fight is my fight, my darknesses are your darknesses. And vice-versa. But you're still holding me at arms length. Stop it. Let me _in._"

Harry couldn't prevent a laugh. "You're so bossy. I forgot how much. Or how cute it is. Adorable, actually."

"Don't change the subject," said Hermione. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Harry replied. "You really are cute."

"Harry..."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Harry, exasperated. "I'm a mess. I've not made any secret of that."

"Then let me help tidy you up," said Hermione. "I need you to help me get over..._my thing_s. Let me help you back."

Harry learned in and hugged her. She curled her arms around him, too. "You already are," Harry whispered. "But it's hard for me to keep all this in as it is. I can't just open it all up. Its too volatile. Give me time...I have to do it my way."

"Just as long as I'm part of that way," said Hermione, snuggling into his shoulder.

"More than you can possibly know," said Harry. With a huge effort, he moved away from her embrace. "But there are other parts, too. And Luna is a key one. So, come on."

Harry stood and offered Hermione his hand. They moved through the house. It was eerily quiet, as if on edge. Harry felt his own emotions bouncing back at him from the walls. He didn't want Hermione coming with him, if he was honest. The danger he was putting her in was frightfully reckless. But she had been insistent. He could sense her own concern now and Harry resolved to be stronger for her. He commanded his mind to ignore the pain in his legs, to mask the limp that had developed there.

She looked good in her battle clothes, primed and powerful. The runes in the linings were responding to her magic. Enola's mother was so good at creating just the right combinations to maximise effect. He hoped he'd be half as good as her one day. Harry could feel Hermione's magic coursing through her outfit, protecting her as she moved. He wondered if she was sensitised enough to it yet. He was certainly more aware of her each time he saw her.

And it was getting intoxicating.

But he had to throw off the effect. It was very distracting. Though it would have its uses. He could sense when she was nearby, the same way he could with Lily. That was a little weird, but comforting all the same. He would always know where she was. If, by some misfortune, they were separated tonight, he would know where to find her. Though, in all truth, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight, or the range of his wand.

Fuck Merlin...how he would _kill _any threat to her. It would be the ugliest thing. He was a little in awe of his own determination regarding it. He'd always felt this protective necessity where Hermione was concerned. Ever since seeing this strong, fearless, ultra-clever young witch looking nothing more than a terrified little girl, in the face of a twelve-foot mountain troll and his vicious club. His mild regard, his borderline reverent respect for her talents, transformed in a second into a fierce, burning need to take care of her, to look after her and defend her vulnerabilities. He'd made something of a habit of it ever since. It was his responsibility, as no-one else seemed to realise how much she deserved such care.

Which was why his biggest shame was his abandonment of her. When her need was its greatest, so had his weakness been.

But she was prepared to overlook it, forgive him. As his mother had. That was exalted company in Harry's book. If only he could join them there. Maybe one day. But not today, for today they had a different kind of fight to wage. One Harry was much happier with, much more confident he could win. He concentrated on that as he led Hermione to the threshold of the palace wards, where he stopped and turned to her.

"Last chance to change your mind," said Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You honestly think I'm going to let you go into danger while I sit in the parlour drinking tea and twiddling my thumbs and worrying till you come back? There was _never_ a chance of _that_, Harry. This Lady is not for turning."

Harry smirked at her. "Let's go then."

He led her through the ward boundary, watching her shiver as the magic passed over her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "Its just that, well...the wards at the Camp were so evil. They made me sick. These actually gave me courage."

Harry grinned. "I'm so glad you picked that up. It shows you are starting to open up to the _real_ nature of magic. When Nev and I configured the wards we built that into it. It was a twat of a ritual, to be frank, but well worth it. Always steels me to face whatever is out there."

"I feel like I could punch Tom Riddle in the dick without a worry in the world!"

Harry burst out laughing. It took a minute for him to settle. "Oh, Hermione...we are _so_ doing that! I _have_ to see that before I kill him. Ha ha ha. That's one for the bucket list. Oh...fuck me! Ha ha."

"Is that one as well?" Hermione asked, sultrily.

Harry grinned back at her. "_That,_ my dear, is numbers one, two and three. And I think it appears a dozen times in my Top Twenty."

"Good," said Hermione. "I have lots of positions to tick off then. Sod it, lets just change the _B to an F_ on that List of yours..."

Harry shuddered pleasantly at the inference. It was an idea with plenty of merit. "Good Merlin, you really have been talking to Enola..."

"Yes I have," said Hermione. "_And_ she told me all about runic magic being used in the bedroom. Some of the stories she told me about her and Neville...I hope you didn't tell him _all _your tricks, maybe kept some for me."

Harry smirked at her. Then he shifted on his feet, coolly embarrassed. "I kept the best ones for you. I think you'll like them. I...er...only _taught_ Neville the runes and the theory, by the way...I've...um...never actually _used_ them myself."

Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide with doubt and shock. "Harry...are you saying you...you've never..."

Harry toe'd the ground sheepishly. "Don't tell Neville. Don't tell anyone. Please."

Hermione looked so gently at Harry just then that he had to turn away. He couldn't face her.

"How is that possible?" asked Hermione softly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're hot as fuck. Even your magic is sexy. I've imagined all these witches falling over each each to jump into bed with you. How have you never..."

Harry shrugged and kicked a stone in the mud. "You have seen my face, haven't you? It tends to put people off that sort of thing."

Hermione walked purposefully around and took Harry by the shoulders, forcing his eye to meet one of her own. "Yes, I have seen it. Before and now. And you're gorgeous. In any light. This is so amazing, Harry. You are going to be _so_ mine, all mine. And I absolutely _love_ that. And, if it makes you feel any better, I've never had any sex that I enjoyed. It will be a first time for me too, in a way. Because I intend to enjoy every long_ second_ of it when it happens with you."

Harry frowned. "It doesn't make me feel better. Not at all. Knowing that Ron not only fucked you, but made it bad for you...it makes me unspeakably angry. Not to mention insanely jealous. It was easier when I convinced myself that he raped you every time. I could be justifiably furious at that."

Hermione swallowed hard. "It _was_ practically rape every time. I never wanted it. I certainly never enjoyed it. In fact, I cried for the first six months or more. And, sometimes, when I resisted...it actually became rape."

A tree nearby went up in raging flames. It took Harry and Hermione working together to douse the inferno. When the tree was nothing more than a smouldering skeleton, Hermione moved to Harry and pressed her hands to his chest.

"This rage of yours is so intense...its dangerous, Harry," she whispered. "Is that how...how you hurt yourself so badly? The night you rescued me?"

Harry scowled. "I'm going to have such a long chat with Enola. She's supposed to keep my secrets."

"No, that's _my_ job now," said Hermione. "I'm going to get Ennie to tell me everything, just so you know. So get used to it."

Harry shook his head in defeat. "I was angry with myself. _Very_ angry. I'm not sorry. I wont ever be sorry for something like that."

"You wont have to be," said Hermione. "You've already promised not to let anything happen to me. I believe you. But we have to deal with this rage of yours. I wont let it hurt you again. I wont stand for it."

Harry's heart ached at the promise. He was so helpless with this girl. He steeled himself. "When this is all over, I'll break down for you, if that's what you want. But, right now, this pool of rage is being cultivated for Riddle and his subjects."

"Then lets release some of it," said Hermione. "Lets go and find Luna."

Harry proffered his arm and as soon as Hermione closed her fingers around it, he Apparated them both away. They emerged in a moonlit lane, flanked by high hedges on both sides, which cast deep shadow across the path. It was deathly quiet. Hermione hugged close to Harry.

"It's alright," he whispered soothingly. "Just stay with me. Come on."

They stole out along the lane, moving cautiously at first but quicker as they settled into the night. As they reached a turn at the end, Hermione pulled Harry to an abrupt stop, causing her to collide with him.

"We need to be careful," she whispered to him. "I know this lane. It leads into Beckery. The village square is just around this bend. There's a checkpoint there."

"I know, but thanks for your diligence," said Harry, grinning in the dark. "If we're very lucky, we should pass this one quite easily."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't push the point further as Harry led them on again. As she'd promised, the tiny village of Beckery opened up before them. The quaint village square was silent as they entered it. A few cottages on the far side still had windows lit, but other than that the moon provided the greatest source of light. It tinted everything in a surreal silvery coat.

The checkpoint was directly ahead of them. Harry made for it. He was confident, but he caressed his wand out of habit. There was no need to be cocky, after all. Hermione kept pace with him, moving exceptionally close, as though not wanting to be out of his shadow. He was happy with her actions, he didn't like the idea of her being any further away than was necessary.

They stopped at the checkpoint.

"You will submit your wands for inspection, please."

Hermione immediately made to hand hers over, fear-conditioned to the promise of punishment for refusing the command. Harry moved to quickly ease her hand down. Then he turned to the checkpoint guards.

"You need to be more forceful," he said. "Death Eaters never say _please._"

"Sorry, Harry," said Angharad, throwing off her hood to reveal herself. Myfanwy followed suit next to her. "I'll be more of a bitch next time."

"Good. Any trouble subduing the real guards?"

Myfanwy scoffed. "_Real_ _guards_? Are you having a laugh? These two couldn't guard their own arse holes from penetration. A baby could have overpowered them."

Harry grinned. "Well, good job anyway. Stay vigilant. We can expect trouble at any time. The night has eyes, don't you know."

Angharad moved closer to Harry, her dark features set and serious. "It isn't safe here tonight, Harry. You shouldn't have come. They are holding some big ceremony up at the old abbey. Its crawling with Vigilantes up there."

"Vigilantes?" Hermione asked.

"Religious zealots who have deified Riddle," Harry explained. "They founded the Church of the Dark Mark. They are on a par with the Death Eaters in terms of the hierarchy of things."

Harry watched Hermione shiver at the mention of the new quasi-religion, which had sprung up in the wake of Tom Riddle's Accession to self-proclaimed Dark King of England. They were known for brutally putting down all followers of other faiths. Harry remembered being to forced to watch as they burnt down and desecrated a Ministry of Merlin house of worship in Cornwall, including all fifty Merlin Reverents who had been praying inside. He and Neville had arrived too late to help. The screams of the children among the victims had haunted Harry for months afterwards.

"I've never heard of them," said Hermione. Her voice was quavering. "I've heard of the Church, of course. Ron forced me to take a vow of subservience to them, almost like a baptism. You had a choice - get doused by water 'blessed' by Vold - sorry, _Riddle_ \- or get doused with concentrated bubotuber pus."

"Nice choice," Myfanwy spat bitterly.

"I was going to go for the pus," said Hermione. "Then I think Ron hit me with the Imperious Curse, because next thing I knew I was dressed in a ceremonial robe, my hair was soaking and he was hitting me in an altogether different way for my disobedience."

Harry gritted his teeth. He pushed his swelling anger away from the surface of his furious mind.

"How many are there?" he growled.

"Fifteen to twenty, maybe more," said Myfanwy.

"Good, that's five each," said Harry. The girls scowled maniacally.

"I call dibs on any spares," said Angharad. "It's high time we gave these twats a pasting."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I have to find out about Luna. I have a bad feeling about her, but I need to know for sure. Give us half an hour, then meet us as the old cemetery. We may have a few new internees for it."

"Half an hour," Myfanwy nodded. "We'll be ready."

Harry turned to Hermione. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Come on, Luna's cottage was this way."

They left the girls behind and hurried away from the village square. They hadn't gone more than thirty yards before Hermione pulled Harry behind the low wall of nearby garden.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Up there, look," said Hermione. She pointed to a strange pointy object on top of a war memorial at the far end of the square. It was rotating on its axis. "Scanning Staff. They were only installing it when we left. They are everywhere now. It sweeps a constant spell around the tracking zone, but if we time it right we should be able to stay in the blind spot. Wait...wait for it...now!"

She grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him from their hiding spot. They scuttled forward, stopped as they were going too fast, started again, then slid down the gap between two houses to escape the tracking zone.

"How did you know where the spell beam was?" asked Harry, leaning into the wall and catching his breath. "I couldn't see that."

"I had to dodge them constantly, if I wanted to escape for a bit back at Hengest," said Hermione. "The camp was dense with security measures. You got used to knowing when the staff tip was pointing at you."

Harry looked at her admiringly. "Just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"What can I say, you have to allow a girl her secrets," Hermione replied. "Luna's house is close by."

She made to move again but Harry pinned her to the wall. She looked into his eye and said, somewhat breathily, "Is this really the time?"

Harry smirked at her. "I cant honestly think of a time when this _wouldn't_ be appropriate. But, look over there, CCTV cameras. We can't just stroll out into view. Here."

Harry rapped them both over the head with his wand.

"What was that?" asked Hermione, twitching as the spell settled on her.

"Reflection Charm," Harry explained. "It will project the background behind us onto our bodies as we move. Just in case the camera is rigged to expose standard concealment spells. There has been quite a lot of advancement in Magical Tech in the past few years."

Harry pulled Hermione forwards again. Despite the Charm on them, Harry stuck them close to the walls of the houses and the shadows they provided. They moved quickly and Harry let out a tense breath once they were out of sight of the camera. He cancelled the Reflection Charm. He decided there and then that bringing Hermione on this mission was a mistake. If she hadn't been here, he would have just blasted the camera into bits, then dealt with any security forces who turned up to investigate. Having her at such risk was making him cautious. She seemed to sense his anxiety.

"You're tense," she whispered as they walked on. "Nervous, not your assured self. Its because of me, isn't it?"

"I'm just worried about you," said Harry. "This is just really dangerous."

"But so are you," Hermione quirked. "I feel quite safe, Harry. I've got you to protect me. And I'm not so defenceless myself, you know. Just act as you normally would. I'm an extra hand for you here, not a hindrance. I hope."

Harry felt his chest swell at her determination. "I'm sorry. I'm treating you like you're delicate. But you've come through some serious horrors yourself. I just cant help it. I'm used to protecting you. I like doing it."

"I like you doing it, too," Hermione smiled. "But you defend me by being aggressive against any threats. Don't stop doing that on my account. In fact, be _worse_ for me."

"Hermione...you really are my Queen," said Harry.

"Damned fucking right I am," Hermione replied firmly. Then she pulled him to an abrupt halt. "Harry! A patrol!"

He followed her line of sight. They were still shrouded by the bushy hedge of a garden they were in. It kept them from the view of a pair of wizards walking along the road very close by.

"Death Eaters?" Hermione murmured lowly.

"No, they are just the local law," Harry hissed in return. "Argus Force Constables. No better, though. Most have ambitions of promotion to the DE Corps from what I hear. The initiation and induction rites include participating in a DUI."

"DUI?" Hermione queried.

"Death Under Interrogation," Harry explained. "Its a test of their limits."

"The Argus Force," Hermione repeated with a scoff. Then she recited their motto, "_Our Eyes are Everywhere._ Maybe we should hit those two with a Conjunctivitis Curse._.._or stop them seeing in a more permanent way."

"They haven't even got their wands out," said Harry, bitterly. "They will regret that over-confidence. Come on."

Harry darted out from their hiding spot and sped towards the Constables. His crunching footsteps alerted them, and his quick movements triggered motion sensors in the narrow street. The Constables turned and Harry's wand snapped into his hand, but before he could even cast, Hermione shot a powerful Stunner from behind, slamming one of the wizards into the shutter of a garage, which he smashed into with an almighty clang. His partner aimed his wand at Hermione in response.

Harry's reaction was so fast Hermione would later tell him she didn't see it as anything more than a blur. He flicked a Severing Curse at the Constable, which sliced his wand arm clean off at the shoulder. He screeched in agony and collapsed into the pool of blood which spilled out from the wound. But, before he had even hit the floor, Harry had transfigured his lost wand into a dagger and driven it through his skull. It caused his eye to pop out of its socket as the blade cut through the optic nerve.

Harry moved and stood over his victim, eyeing his handiwork. Hermione joined him and looked down. She didn't speak.

"I asked you not to judge me," Harry said quietly.

"How can I not?" Hermione asked, evenly. "Transfiguring his own wand? That's fabulously quick thinking. And mightily impressive magic, too. I like the pattering on the knife handle."

Harry smirked inside his shawl. "It's the Sowilo Rune, lightening bolt-shaped. I've made it my calling card."

"I approve," said Hermione, nodding. She glanced over at garage. "What about the other one?"

"Give me a second," said Harry, crossing to the prostrate Constable...drawing Excalibur as he went...

Hermione looked away modestly as Harry worked. He might as well have been getting undressed in front of her for the first time. It felt that way. He was reticent to begin with, but Hermione wasn't flinching at his actions. She was absorbing them, bearing them, adjusting to the way Harry dealt with his enemies, with _their_ enemies. She held her head up and simply kept watch until he returned.

"Has she sated her thirst?" Hermione asked as Harry returned, nodding to the sword swinging at his side.

"Not nearly enough," said Harry. "But it'll do for now. That guy had the scroll-spell to cancel the motion alarm, so that's done. I need to check this one for the Skeleton Key - the pass to enter any property on their watch. All Argus Patrols carry one. It might make getting into Luna's a little less conspicuous"

"Let me," said Hermione, bending down and fishing through the robes of the very dead wizard at their feet. They were horribly exposed, frisking a corpse in the middle of the street. Harry marvelled at the weirdness of his life. Then Hermione stood. "Is this it?"

It was indeed. A long, thick key, made of bone, with a skull at the hilt. Harry took it from her. "Thanks. We'd better get this body off the street. Can you clean up the blood while I stash him with the other one?"

Hermione nodded and drew her wand, while Harry flicked and swished and levitated the wizard out of sight. He pulled the two bodies to a verge at the side of the road, where two gnarled trees stood. He disrobed one of the Constables, transfigured the robe into a sheet of tarpaulin to cover them, then dislodged a huge amount of earth to cover his work. It wasn't perfect, but he and Hermione would be long gone before anyone discovered what had happened.

Harry returned to her. "Still with me?" he asked cautiously.

"More than ever," she said. "You really are impressive, you know."

Harry couldn't prevent a grin. "Hush you. Now, which house was Luna's?"

Hermione looked around...and drew in a rattling breath. Horrified, she pointed to a building nearby. If she hadn't drawn Harry's attention to it, he might have assumed it was derelict. There were curtains flapping from a window whose glass had been shattered. Parts of the brickwork seemed to be crumbling and the thatched roof was charred from fire, exposing the timbers beneath. The door had been blown off its hinges and hung precariously from the splintered door frame.

"Oh, _Harry_...Luna!" Hermione choked out desperately.

Harry felt a surge of anger pulse through him. He couldn't bear to face the images of what might have happened, though he fancied he could guess fairly accurately what they would be. He didn't feel master of words enough to answer Hermione and instead raced across to the house.

"Harry! Be careful! There could be traps, alert spells..."

"Let them come," Harry growled. He drew his wand at the threshold and heard Hermione gasp close behind, as his throbbing magic swept out of him and washed over her. He was at his peak now, primed to fighting form. He pushed his power into his wand, in readiness for what he might find inside the house. Then he strode in.

The place was wrecked. Furniture was upturned, a bookcase had been cracked in half and lay askew against a Wizarding Wireless set in the corner of the room. A cool breeze blew around fragments of the _Daily Prophet_, which was covering the birth of another Heir of Voldemort. Harry recognised Cho Chang's face in the moving snippet of paper, lifeless eyes presenting her baby for the photo session. Harry kicked at it with his boot.

Each room told the story of a violent struggle. The kitchen table was on its side, fragments of a tea pot and cup littering the floor nearby. The star-strewn sky was visible through the roofless ceiling, and signs of the fire that decimated it obvious in the scarred walls, and the charred, acrid smell which still clung to the air.

Harry found Luna's bedroom and cast the beam of light from his wand around the space. His heart stopped at what he found there, his breath holding fast in his lungs. For there, on the mid-point of the crumpled bedsheets, unmistakable traces of blood. Harry collapsed next to the bed and cast his wand over the spot, closing his eyes to pull the echo of memory. He yelled out in anger as the scene replayed for him.

"Harry!" asked Hermione, skidding to him. "What is it?"

Harry stood and swallowed hard against his resistant throat. "They...they raped her, Hermione. Those fucking bastards!"

"Merlin, _no!"_ Hermione yelped in horror, clutching at her chest. "Why would they?"

"For information...on you. On me."

Harry flicked his wand and the bed shattered into a dozen pieces. The power of the spell caused Hermione to step back from the shock wave. She moved as soon as she could, and hugged into Harry.

"S-she knew," Harry spat, hateful anger rising in his very synapses. "She knew about me. But she didn't tell. Even when they made her _bleed._ She didn't tell them a goddamned thing."

Harry roared out, low and guttural. A menacing snarl. The feral cat inside him was waking, angry and aggressive. Harry felt claws sprout on his fingers. He worked hard to keep the beast back, breathing heavily, but it was tough labour.

"If Luna knew you were alive, maybe coming for her, she might have tried to warn you," said Hermione softly, trying to calm Harry's roiling fury, which was surging out of him in uncontrollable spikes. "Focus Harry, let her guide you."

Harry mastered himself under Hermione's command. He felt Luna's signature clearly on the air. Hermione was right, Luna had prepared for this. Harry followed the strength of the signal, tracked it back through the house. In the living room, the vibration was almost overpowering. But Harry couldn't find the source. He cast a Revelio spell. Nothing.

"It's here, Hermione, I can feel it. I just can't _see_ it. Come on, Luna. Talk to me."

"She thought you were dead," Hermione reasoned. "And she was working with the Veil at the Department of Mysteries. How would she think to communicate with you, in a way the Death Eaters wouldn't know to look for?"

Harry clapped his hand to his forehead. "You're a genius, Hermione! She thought I was _dead_...she was trying to find a way to talk to them...to talk to _ghosts_...she called it _ghost writing!_ Ernie MacMillan told Neville all about it._"_

"Did it work?"

"For ghosts, no," said Harry. "But it was like Muggle Magic Ink. You could only see it through special glasses..._Spectre-Specs..._she was going to sell them with the Quibbler. Might have been fun for kids. Look for glasses, Hermione. Ones typically Luna."

Harry began scrabbling around the wrecked room. Hermione hadn't moved. Harry stared at her.

"Aren't you going to help?"

Hermione cocked her head at him. "Brilliant at advanced magic, rubbish at the simple stuff. _Accio Spectre-specs!_"

From across the room, a small, innocuous box flew open and a pair of shocking pink sunglasses, with stars for frames, soared out to Hermione's waiting grip. She smirked at Harry and waved them at him. Harry frowned at her.

"I take it back. Bringing you _was_ a good idea."

Hermione smiled and put the glasses on. Then she inhaled sharply as she looked at the far wall.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"I...I don't know if I can read it to you, Harry," Hermione breathed.

"Then give me the glasses."

"No!" she cried shrilly. "It might be worse if you read the details."

"Hermione..."

She sighed in resignation. "It's from Luna. You're right, Harry...she was raped here. And tortured. All to try and get information on you, where you might be. S-she...she says _raped again_...oh, Harry! Its so awful! She says they are rounding up people who supported you. She doesn't know what is going to happen to them, or where they are going to be taken. But she thinks they are going to be used to lure you out. She begs you not to give in...not to die again. I'm sorry...I can't read any more."

Hermione flung the glasses off and fell to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry dropped down beside her and pulled her close to him. She sobbed into his chest. Harry's anger dropped to a dull burning in his veins. He wasn't mindless anymore, he was quite calm. He knew this state, he was in control of it.

It was how he always was before he took evil life.

Harry pulled Hermione's head up to look into her eyes. "We will find Luna. I don't think she'd dead. I can't say how, I just don't. But for now, we have another task."

"Which is?"

"It's been half an hour. Fan and Ann are waiting."

Hermione wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. "Then lets meet them. I am so angry, Harry. I might not be able to control myself."

"Please...don't. I have no intention of being merciful."

They stood. Wands out and heaving with their combined magic. Harry was astonished at its potency. Then they nodded at each other, before heading out of the door.

* * *

Angharad and Myfanwy were waiting for them at the cemetery gates. They had shirked their stolen Death Eater robes and were now resplendent in their battle trenchcoats. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by them. They looked formidable, it helped calm her searing nerves.

For Harry was so enraged she was a little meek in the face of him. He hadn't spoken since they'd left Luna's cottage. She could only imagine the irate thoughts chasing each other through his mind. For hers were in a similar state. She couldn't get a grip on Luna's suffering, her courage in resisting the torture.

Or her own role in being at least partially responsible for it.

It hadn't occurred to Hermione that her friends would be targeted after her disappearance. She didn't consider herself that important. Perhaps Susan knew, and could have told her, if she'd regained consciousness. But she was still in the grip of a deep coma, her body only slowly responding to the treatment she was receiving. Hermione had no way of knowing she was being so callously hunted.

The two pairs met. But the introduction was brief. Myfanwy was deeply agitated.

"We have to hurry," she said sharply. "They're conducting a ritual. Harry...it looks like they are about to sacrifice somebody."

"They've built a pyre," Angharad added. "And there's a sacrificial throne on top. Its very_ small_."

"Don't let Hermione out of your sight," Harry growled to Angharad, then took off at speed. The others followed, but struggled to keep up in his wake. At the crest of the hill they lost him completely, as he transformed into his powerful Animagus lion form.

It was quite a sight for Hermione. She hadn't really registered it the first time, but he was _enormous_. Powerfully built, heavy set and lethal. His mane was thick and wild and flowed out behind him as he galloped away. She would have to get him to show her close up one day. He looked lush enough to pet.

But not tonight. Tonight he was a deadly machine, built to kill and on the hunt for blood. Hermione reached the crest of the hill first behind him, and was only prevented from going on by a Shield Wall Charm Myfanwy cast from down the slope. Hermione collided with the thickened air with a yelp of shock, and was stopped in her tracks.

"Hermione! Wait!"

So she did. It gave her time to assess the scene. And she lost her breath as she took the sight in. It was like something she'd imagine from Harry's nightmare-scape.

There was a long avenue of parched lawn between the remnants of the old abbey buildings. Sporadic outcrops of rock and stone were all that remained these days, and the overgrown grasses were encroaching on the ruins. Off to the right, the smashed debris of the old Chapel of Merlin was clearly visible, to Wizarding eyes only. The Muggles would be put off by the high cordon erected around it.

Hermione was glad to see it a ruin. It was the place she'd been forced to take Ron as her husband. It was a hated site.

But it was along the avenue where things were truly horrific. Two lines of twelve hooded wizards in ochre robes stood still as statues. Each held a long, flaming torch in one hand, creating an arch of crackling fire between the rows, which ran the entire length of the avenue. They were chanting something but Hermione was too far away to hear over the sizzle of the flames.

Then she heard something else, something that made her heart freeze.

A high pitched scream. A little girl screeched out, shattering the silent night. It was infused with more fear than Hermione could rightly conceive. Her mind broke at the sound. It gave a new definition to the concept of terror for her. The little girl cried out again and again, screaming desperately for her mother, as she was dragged along under the arch of fire by a new wizard, robed differently to the others in shades of deep purple.

Each hooded, torch-bearing wizard fired a spell of dull blue light at the girl as she was hauled past them. They didn't seem to hurt her, but they made her pleading screams more and more tormented and urgent as each one hit. Her words resonated in the air, hanging there weirdly, as though the ritual was trapping them in place, harnessing the absolute fear in her wretched tone. Hermione could hardly bear to look towards the scene.

But she did. A large bonfire had been erected at the tip of the avenue. It was already lit and burning fiercely. The purple-robed wizard was pulling the terrified little girl towards a simple wooden seat with a high back. Hermione could understand why Angharad had called it a _throne_. But she had no mind for that. All she could focus on was the blond-haired child being forced into it, all the while sobbing in unrelenting anguish. Hermione was oddly fixated by the girls' pigtails, and the cute, little red bows tied in them.

It was with a flash of fear, that made her feel dopey and stupefied, that she registered they were about to burn this poor child alive.

She felt an anger unlike anything she'd ever known course through her. She burst through Myfanwy's Shield Wall and took off down the hill, flicking her wand into her hand. She heard thudding footsteps behind and knew the girls were following, but she couldn't think about them. She was single-minded for the struggling girl up ahead. She had to reach her...before they raised that detestable throne...

But she was beaten to it.

The air was cleaved by a roar of pure, animalistic rage, and Harry The Lion leapt into view from _through_ the pyre, shattering the bonfire into largely harmless, smoldering planks. In one movement he pounced on the ritual leader, taking his throat between his powerful jaws, and biting through all the bone and sinew. Harry wrenched the head viciously off and sent it rolling away down the slope, as the other Vigilantes scattered and tried to react. Hermione watched in shock as the headless corpse crumpled to the floor. She shook herself and raced forward to help her lion.

But Harry was a mindless bundle of unstoppable power now. He charged around at breathtaking speed, swiping those deadly claws at one, then another, till ochre robes soaked with blood soon littered the field. He was chaos embodied, and his enemies scattered and fled before him. Angharad and Myfanwy joined him in the heat of the fight, darting here and there, Apparating in and out of view so fast Hermione couldn't keep track of them. And their spells were ferocious. One Blasting Curse from Angharad left a hole in one Vigilantes' chest where his heart once was. Hermione looked through it in surreal amazement.

And what she saw stirred an unimaginable fear-filled fury in her.

Harry was looming over a Vigilant, his claws swiping viciously at the bastard's chest, sending showers of blood shooting out all around. But another was moving towards him from behind. He had taken one of the flaming torches, snapped the wood to make a spear, and was hoisting it up to thrust into Harry's back. Hermione watched the whole thing in slow motion.

Harry was going to be stabbed. They were going to_ kill him_.

And Hermione finally found her mind, and reacted in a feral frenzy. She cast a Reductor Curse so powerful it crushed all the bones in the Vigilante's body. He folded to the floor, shrieking in high pitched agony. Harry span at Hermione's lethal spell casting, transformed into his human form and drove Excalibur through the boneless wizard at his feet. He winked at Hermione then darted back into battle.

But by then it was all but done. One Vigilant remained, but as he tried to escape Harry pulled him back with a powerful spell. It was like he'd hooked the man on a fishing line. He skidded to Harry's boot, which smacked firmly into his face. The Vigilant yelped out, then spat a mouthful of blood and tooth shards onto the grass.

"Secure him," Harry ordered to Myfanwy. He brandished Excalibur like a practiced swordsman, assessing the carnage. He nodded as he noted there were no more enemies to be cut down. "Ann...the girl."

"On it," said Angharad, and she hurried off to free the child, who Hermione could see had fainted, but was otherwise physically unharmed. A second later and both disappeared in a swirl of air.

Hermione moved to Harry and hugged him tight, ignoring Myfanwy's raised eyebrows next to them. It suddenly struck her how close she had come to losing him again. Her heart throbbed. She was desperate to feel him alive under her touch, so she pushed a hand into his robe to feel his speeding heartbeat, skin on skin. "Are you alright?"

Harry returned her hug fiercely. "I'm fine. You? Did they hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay. What was this, Harry?"

"I think I know," he said. There was a look of triumph in his eye and he disentangled himself from her and drew out a small, ruby pendant from his pocket. "I found this."

Hermione stared at it. "That...that looks like McGonagall's...is it..."

Harry nodded. "Horcrux receptacle. I can feel it. Looks like they've standardised them."

"But, that might mean..." Hermione gasped. "Riddle...he might be coming here!"

Myfanwy shot up, taut. Harry raised his hand to silence her. "Its possible, but not likely. I imagine Riddle has his own space for this particular rite. I'd be amazed if he did it somewhere so public and uncontrolled. But he's probably waiting for this receptacle, complete with that poor girls' soul."

Hermione couldn't get over Harry's triumphant look. She grinned widely at it. "What are you thinking?"

"We _stopped_ one, Hermione!" he fist pumped. His enthusiasm was infectious. "We stopped a Horcrux being made. Its a victory! We put a spanner in his works. Not only that, we know what the fakes look like now. They're all _the same_. Maybe more important ones will be different, but now we can rule out most of them. That's a typical Riddle-Mistake. Brilliant, but oh so dumb! He didn't think I'd come back and expose his ruse. Fucking dumb, snake-blowing cunt! Now, lets see what we can learn from this prick...just in case he does show up."

Harry stared down at his captive, held fast by Myfanwy's binding spell. He was a little manic. He was shivering from battle, the adrenaline still pulsing through him. He looked positively ecstatic and his eye was actually glowing. Hermione was beside herself. Harry was so powerful, so intense in this mode, it made her entire body ache at the sight. His energy was like a drug. She wanted him so badly, she wasn't sure she could resist much longer.

Harry flicked his wand and the Vigilant was flung upside down. Harry cocked his head at him.

"Hello," he began conversationally. "Do you know who I am?"

"F-fuck you, Potter," said the Vigilant.

"I see Tom Riddle hasn't taught you any manners," said Harry. "But at least you all know what's coming for you. That _I'm_ coming for you. Each and every one of you fuckers. I like that. Do you want to live?"

"You aren't going to let me live," the Vigilant spat.

"Oh I might," said Harry, blithely. "You see, I like to send old Tom messages from time to time. You might just be the next one. If you're a good boy."

"Fuck you."

"You know, that's the second time you've sworn at me," said Harry thoughtfully. "We need to wash your mouth out."

He flicked his wand. The dangling wizard immediately began to choke and sputter.

"Harry..." said Hermione, frowning. "You're going easy on him."

"On the contrary," said Harry. "Right now, this cunt's lungs are filling up with water. I give it five minutes before he drowns. Its not a pleasant way to go. But, I could always cancel the spell..."

The Vigilant spluttered. Hermione just looked on in amazement.

"What was that?" Harry asked, cupping a sarcastic hand to his ear.

The wizard tried again. "P..ptr,"

"One more time?"

"Potter! P-please...I have children..."

Harry scowled angrily. "Then I pity those unfortunate wretches, to have such a father as you. If you co-operate, you may get to see them again."

"P -please...I'll do whatever you want."

Harry cancelled the spell. The Vigilant coughed again, then vomited a lung-full of water onto the ground.

"There. That's better, isn't it?" said Harry. He ended the Levicorpus spell and the wizard hit the floor with a dull thud. "Now, you are going to tell me everything you know about the rounding up of people who pledged support for me. And for every lie you tell, I'll take a limb. Got it?"

The wizard whimpered at Harry's feet. Then he began his confession.


	8. The Dark King Moves

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The Wizarding media quickly dubbed it _'The Sacking of Glastonbury_'. The story, in various blood-curdling forms, was covered extensively for the next week. Indeed, as far as _The Daily Prophet_ was concerned, the rest of the world and all the people in it had ceased to exist. The various arms of the Wizarding Wireless Network, both audio and visual formats, ran expose after expose on the events, and turned its propaganda wheels to demonise the culprits.

So, thus it came to be, that Harry Potter's name was making headline news again.

And he had never been more evil. Nor more happy to be so. _The Prophet_ had dubbed him with such imaginative monikers as _Potter the Putrid _and _Heartless Harry_. For what other sort of person would kill defenceless monks simply pursuing the worship of the One True Lord? The small detail of ritual child sacrifice had failed to make any of the harrowing news reports. Funny that.

The girl in question hadn't spoken at all. She was in a state of shock so deep she was practically catatonic. None of the healing witches had managed to get a peep out of her. She'd relented without resistance to be bathed and cleaned and dressed, and numbly accepted soup that was hand-fed to her. But she hadn't said a word or moved at all, other than to close her eyes to sleep, and open them again with lifeless reluctance when the time came.

Hermione was deeply worried about her. She sat with the girl as much as anyone, helping to feed her and trying to coax some sort of response, but to no avail. They guessed the girl was around six or seven years old, but there was no way to be certain. Hermione suggested using a ritual to try and help her, but Harry felt that such magic might have been _responsible_ for her condition, and might only cause her greater distress if she were exposed to it again.

Secretly, Harry felt the girl might be better off in her broken mind, where she might have found a safe place. For if the horrors she'd witnessed came back to her, the effect would be devastating. If nearly getting burned alive wasn't bad enough, Myfanwy had found a ritual altar nearby...with two adult sacrifices still bleeding into a ceremonial chalice. The blonde-haired woman might have been the girl's mother...but there wasn't enough left of her face to make a positive connection.

So the girl had simply become another of Voldemort's orphans. She was in elite company in that group, along with Harry, of course. But he didn't want to think about that. It caused his mind to drift to Teddy Lupin. Harry had no idea what had happened to his Godson, he had never been able to trace him. He shuddered to think what Remus and Tonks would think of him for not looking harder.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. But Riddle had been oddly keen to absorb parentless toddlers into the New World Order, as if he saw them as kindred wretches. They were treated preciously. If Teddy was lucky, Harry thought, he was dead. If he was still alive, he would be one of the generation of brainwashed children who had been taught to believe Tom Riddle was some sort of universal father, whose word was law and gospel, and who had been trained from birth to defend their One True Lord even at the cost of their own lives.

Apparently, even Hogwarts had twice daily prayer sessions devoted to worshipping the Dark King these days.

Harry knew the fanaticism this inspired all too well. It had accounted for the first life had taken outside of a combat situation.

He and Neville had been meeting with Narcissa Malfoy, but Harry had been on edge for the entire time. He was sure their privacy wards had been breached, but he couldn't find the source. And it was too late to cancel. So he met with Narcissa, conducted the usual exchange of intelligence, then returned quickly to Neville, who had been watching proceedings like a sniper from a nearby rooftop.

But Neville hadn't been alone. A young wizard had snuck up on him, and was about to curse him from behind. Harry responded with his Chain Incendio Charm, which he'd been itching to try out. The wizard gasped in shock as the fireballs passed through his skinny body, then Harry gasped as he watched him fall to the floor, quite dead.

For the wizard was no more than a boy...and still wearing his Hogwarts Hufflepuff Robes. Harry would later learn he was only fourteen.

He swatted the memory away. It was turning the air of the sitting room so cold he could see his breath as steam rising before him. Sir David Pincott and Patrick O'Brien were exchanging worried glances. They knew better than to press Harry on his moods, but both were dressed for Summer...and Harry was causing ice crystals to form on their eyebrows.

Hermione frowned at him from the other end of the couch. "Harry...stop whatever it is you're doing this instant!"

Harry stared at her, confused. "Eh?"

"It's _freezing_ in here!" she said. "And I know it's _your_ doing. What's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

Harry looked down shamefully and commanded the air of the house to return to normal. "Sorry...I didn't realise..."

Hermione tossed aside the copy of the _Prophet_ she'd been scowling at, and slid along the couch to Harry's side. She moved so close that when she spoke only Harry could hear her.

"What is it?" she asked gently, snaking a soothing hand up his arm to his shoulder.

She couldn't be this close. Harry would have to stop her doing it. He lost the power to think clearly when she was. But he couldn't imagine a more repugnant idea than pushing her away. She was making him weak and silly.

"It's nothing, forget it," Harry returned avoidantly. He added, in a queerly strained voice, "I'm sorry. Look, the temperature is back to normal."

Hermione scrutinised him. "But _you're _not. Do you want to take a walk?"

Yes he did. Very much. Because Hermione's idea of a _walk_ these days was to get lost somewhere in the grounds, quite out of sight, where she could strip him of his shawl and kiss him senseless till they were both out of breath and shivery with passion. Harry was mindless at the very suggestion. But he was going to have to resist on this occasion. They were accumulating intelligence and, unfortunately, going off for a quick roll in the haystacks would just have to wait.

Seriously, Tom Riddle was _such_ a cunt.

Harry took a calming breath. "No. I'm fine. We need to carry on looking."

And they really did. Days had passed since the venture to Glastonbury, since the discovery of Luna's abduction, along with who knew how many others. Harry could barely keep a cap on his insistent urge to race out and scour Britain for the culprits, and enact swift justice on them. He knew, without doubt, that if Hermione hadn't been here to reign him in he would have done just that. He could almost convince himself that it was the sole reason she was so keen to lock her lips to his so often, so as to keep him from leaving.

It was easier to believe than the _other_ reason...that she actually _wanted_ to kiss him. That was still pretty much nonsense in Harry's mind.

But he also knew he was lucky to just have her here. And not just for those mammoth kissing sessions he was growing so addicted to. She had always been his voice of reason, even in his wildest times. He had missed that without her. He looked back on his time with the ZGD, and the reckless dangers he undertook in Africa and the bleak recesses of Eastern Europe, and shifted uncomfortably with the memories.

Hermione would never have allowed any of it. The irony wasn't lost on Harry, the dichotomy of it. It had made him who he was, the man finally good enough to protect her...but she would have killed him herself if he'd even _suggested _any of the things he'd done. He smirked at the notion. Harry was strong, powerful, fiercely independent. He _owned_ the responsibility of taking care of everyone. He was covetous of it.

But he just _loved_ the way Hermione wanted to protect _him_. It was his new favourite thing.

And it made him feel even more powerful. More determined to stay alive, so that Hermione might continue to care for him. This was, by far, the best thing about his life right now. He wouldn't give it up for anything. He'd found power in runes and ritual, opened himself up to the natural magic of the world in alchemy and crystals, but nothing empowered him quite so much as his restless necessity to be good enough for Hermione. To have her worry about him, to soothe and salve him...it made him feel like someone special. It was like being blessed.

Harry wasn't used to that. Hurt and pain were his bedfellows. His domain was more death than life, more ugliness than beauty. But Hermione was aggressively determined to reverse that. He wondered at her passion for it, looked himself in the mirror, which was a new marvel in itself, and questioned what he'd done to deserve it. It dispelled some of his inherent darkness.

But Hermione reprising her role as Voice of Reason in his head was probably keeping him alive right now. If the reports he was listening to from Patrick and Sir David were anything to go by. Without Hermione to guide him, Harry would have just charged off into the world to hunt for Luna, and straight into the waiting arms of his enemies.

For Tom Riddle, it seemed, had finally woken to Harry's threat.

"Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Avebury, all in total lockdown," Sir David continued saying, now his lips had unfrozen.

"Death Eaters have been posted to every magical street from Kent to Country Antrim," Patrick added. "We've had reports from our insiders with the Department of Magical Transport that every Floo is being monitored, tracking spells have gone up to record Apparition, and broomstick flight has been restricted to pre-determined corridors and heavily enforced, even tracked using satellites by wizards who have infiltrated Muggle Security Forces."

"In short, Harry," said Hermione, seriously. "Don't even think about leaving the palace wards."

Harry frowned at her. "I'm not just going to leave Luna to her fate. Surely, you can't expect me to."

"What I expect is for you to stay alive," Hermione returned firmly. "It's what _Luna_ expects of you, too. She predicted this."

"So Tom Riddle enforces Martial Law on Magical Britain and I'm supposed to sit here and watch him do it?" Harry retorted angrily.

"Yes, that's exactly what you are going to do!" Hermione replied, facing down Harry's ire. "He _wants_ to lure you out. He's playing on your goodness, your desire to help everyone. Don't let him play you so easily."

Harry huffed in frustration. He knew Hermione was right. It didn't make things any better. He felt so useless, a ball of potential energy with nowhere to go for release. He wanted to cry out, to rant and rage. But Hermione stared at him crossly, so he mastered his anger and pushed it further into the well inside. She nodded her approval with a smile and he felt a little calmer.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't want to row with you."

"Oh, Harry!" she smirked. "That wasn't a row. We have that to come. But at least _making up_ will be interesting. I know what you want to do; you wouldn't be you without that thoughtlessly reckless side. It's part of your charm, really. But you have to know when to pick your fights and when to stay put. This is one of those times.

"I know how you feel - I want to run and rescue Luna, too. But we have no idea where she is, or even if she's still alive. Tom Riddle knows you will surface to help your friends. He has this power over you to draw you out. I have to exert _my_ power over you to keep you _in_. And if you think I'm going to concede in a power struggle to _that_ snake-botherer, then you really don't know me at all."

Patrick O'Brien laughed at that. "Merlin, Harry, she will make you a proper Queen. I think I might need to forge you a pair of crowns quite soon."

Harry couldn't help but exchange a grin with Hermione. He was going to offer a suitably witty retort when suddenly the door to the sitting room opened and Neville and Frank Longbottom came hurrying in. Curiously, they were carrying a Wizarding Wireless box, which they placed on the table in front of Harry.

Neville looked down gravely at Harry. "You might want to watch this. You too, Hermione."

"What is it?" Harry asked, frowning

"I've been monitoring the communication channels," said Frank. "Its just the standard crap about you for the most part, preparing the population for the worst. But then, a few minutes ago, the news network announced a press conference. I thought you might be interested to hear what the speaker has to say."

Frank flicked the box on. A three-dimensional image rose from the top of the box, as if from a Pensieve. There was a podium, a large crowd, and a familiar face standing as if about to orate a great speech. Hermione jumped into Harry's arms on terrified reflex. She was practically in his lap, shivering with fear. Harry slipped his arms around her and held her as tight as he could, threading his fingers through her hair and trying his best to offset Hermione's terror. He relaxed his mind and opened up his magic to her.

"Give me your fear," he commanded in whisper.

"No, you have enough of your own," she stammered back.

"That wasn't a request," Harry replied firmly. "Quieten your mind...open up to me. I don't want to violate you, but you are _not_ being afraid of _him_ in my presence."

Harry felt Hermione concede, Slowly, tentatively, he edged his energy towards hers, then touched it gently. Outside of ritual this was ridiculously intimate. It was almost too tender to touch like this. Hermione made the briefest move to recoil, but Harry held her firm. She turned fully into his body and embrace, burrowed her head into the crook of his neck and just gave in to him. For a moment, it was the most wonderful feeling. Harry narrowed his perception of the world to just them, the space they inhabited. A slim envelope of bliss.

Then he felt the absolute panic on her surface.

And Harry was unrelenting in his response. He took it with his mind and ripped it from her, as though tearing away a plaster. The shock would be minimised that way. Hermione inhaled sharply as her fear went, then swooned and rubbed her body to Harry's, as he pushed his most positive healing power into her. Her fingers were dancing at his throat and she seemed to be nibbling his ear.

But Harry was too busy compartmentalising the fear he'd absorbed from Hermione to truly notice, or enjoy it. He'd been afraid in his life, too many times to be healthy. He'd heard fear, seen it in others. But never, not once in his myriad of macabre experiences, had he felt anything quite as complete and horrifying as this. It punched him all over, permeated every pore and piece of sense he possessed like a virus. But, in opposition to this, rose his own anger, his fury. More than a match, a destructive defender. He stared at the source of Hermione's mind-numbing fear, let that anger course through him, as he focused on the head he would one day tear off.

And the red hair he would set on fire first.

For the image of Ron Weasley was now before them, enlarged and prominent as the camera focused on him. What that meant, that he could inspire such intense fright in Hermione just by being there, stirred something so corrosively ugly in Harry's heart that he felt tainted a moment. Harry held his connection to Hermione steady, channelled new waves of fear from her into himself, feeding that constant battle inside him. It gave his anger focus, stopped it exploding out and breaking things.

Ron looked different. He hadn't aged well. There was something unspeakably dark in the lines of his face, a dull tint to his hair, which was slicked back and held in a ruler-straight pony tail to his waist by an onyx hair clasp. Without feeling it, Harry couldn't be sure, but there was something senselessly cold about Ron's expression. He would have easily believed him to be missing part of his soul.

But he shrugged it off. Harry wouldn't allow that to be an excuse for his abuse of Hermione. After all, Ron had never needed one before. He had callously and fragrantly insulted her, belittled her, reduced her to tears with only the barest of effort. He was a master at it. He didn't need to have split his soul to become even worse.

He was just that big a cunt.

Then he started speaking. And his voice was just as cold as his eyes.

"This is an appeal," he began theatrically. "On behalf of a worried and grieving husband to a lost wife."

Hermione sat up angrily. And spat at the image.

"As has been reported in the press in the last few days," Ron went on. "My loving wife, Hermione, has been missing for several weeks. I have, as you can imagine, been beside myself with worry. I feared the worst. Now, thanks to the efforts of our exalted Lord Voldemort, I know that even my worst fears were not terrible enough to encompass the truth.

"The rumours, the whispers...I'm sure you've heard them all. Harry Potter, the Great Traitor...has returned."

Ron waited dramatically as his audience broke out in hushed voices.

"Well, friends, I can tell you now...this is true," said Ron. The crowd erupted in angry cacophony. He held his hands up for silence. "But this truth is not the whole story. For Harry Potter has not returned as a man, but as an abomination. Raised from the dead by archaic and illegal ritual rites, obsessed with what fragments of his old life his warped brain can remember. His fruitless fight against our dear Lord...his infatuation with my own wife. That's why he resorted to kidnapping her, holding her hostage, exposing her to his unnatural brutality. Brutality, friends, demonstrated in his savage attack on the good people of Glastonbury this past week."

Ron waited for the angry mob to crow again, milking it a minute. Then Ron resumed. "I am here before you to make a vow, and a plea. On behalf of our exalted One True Lord - know you are safe. But also know that to take up arms against Harry Potter is the duty of every good citizen. Information on him, his whereabouts, or his followers will be greatly rewarded by our Lord Voldemort himself.

"As for my plea, I direct this to Harry himself. Please, do not harm my loving wife. Hand her back to me in one piece and you will be spared, and returned to damnation in a respectful ceremony. To his supporters - if you join us, and bring my wife back to me, you will be welcomed back into civilisation as heroes, and made as rich as you can dream. I have on my wrist a watch, made by a prestigious Muggle company called Casio. It has a little calculator on it, enabling you to do maths in your palm! _Priceless_ item in the Muggle world. I also have a jar of air from the top of Ben Nevis - I couldn't possibly put a price on that, either. For the return of my wife, you may have one of those things."

At that point, Hermione leapt up and kicked the Wireless set over. Harry gasped in shock as their connection was abruptly broken. But Hermione was fuming, flushed with roiling fury. Her eyes were flashing dangerously, her lips pursed and a throb was pulsing at her temple.

"A fucking Casio watch!" Hermione yelled. "A jar of fucking _air_...that's my _value_ is it?...oh my God, Harry...I am going to rip his cock off and shove it up his arse!"

Harry fought very hard not to laugh as Hermione shrieked and stomped around. "You know, Casio watches aren't _all_ that bad..."

Hermione bulged her eyes dangerously at him. "Don't you...don't... just, just don't!"

Harry stifled a chortle in his throat. Thankfully, Hermione was spitting in her fury and didn't catch it. "Sorry, that was just the kind of humour us zombies go in for."

Hermione turned to him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She visibly calmed under Harry's gaze and soon, she too struggled against a grin. "A Casio calculator watch, though..."

"When I cut his arm off, I'll give it to you for a birthday present," said Harry, lightly. Then he turned to the rest of the room. "Anyone here considering turning me in?"

"I've never been to Ben Nevis," said Patrick, thoughtfully. "I'll stay loyal for the jar of air."

Harry chuckled. "I'll give you the fucking mountain when I win, if that's what it takes."

"Ah, Harry lad, now _that's_ my sort of deal!" said Patrick. "Consider me bribed."

Harry turned to Neville. "Any ideas of going rogue on me?"

Neville hummed as he considered it. "Enola might enact the revenge on me that Hermione has in store for Ron. Nah, I think I'll give it a miss. I like my cock where it is, thanks."

"And so do I," said Enola, entering the room with Alison on her shoulder. "What are you boys talking about in here?"

"Nothing serious, hun," said Neville, smoothing his daughter's wispy hair. "Only Harry being a murderous zombie and Hermione having the monetary value of an eighties wristwatch."

Enola grinned. "The usual, I see. How much are you worth then, Min?"

Hermione smiled fully now. Harry felt it take his breath away. She was stupidly beautiful. "Oh, about thirty-three percent of fuck all, in today's money."

Harry laughed as Hermione flopped down beside him in a huff. "Don't let him get to you. He's trying to get a rise out of you, that's all."

"Well its working!" she shrieked in reply. "Harry...I'm going to have to take something from you...the role of killing Ron. I'm taking ownership of it, right here, right now."

Harry looked at her seriously. "Don't make a vow like that, Hermione. In this place, the way the magic is, it will be an _actual_ bond."

Hermione's expression went stony. "Then I say it again. I, Hermione Jane Granger, am going to kill Ronald Bilius Weasley. I will permit Harry James Potter to hurt, maim, de-limb and otherwise royally fuck up said Ronald Bilius Weasley, but the final act of killing that fucking wanker will fall to me. I swear it, in front of all these witnesses."

Harry inclined his head and conceded to her. He took her hand in his own and looked up pointedly at Neville and Enola, who each placed a hand over Harry and Hermione's interlocked fingers and drew their wands.

"I, Neville Longbottom, do bear first witness to, and seal, this vow."

He drew a silver line around their hands with his wand. He nodded at his wife.

"I, Enola Longbottom, do bear second witness to, and seal, this vow."

Enola's whitewood wand traced Neville's silver line in the opposite direction to which he'd drawn, turning it gold. The magic settled over them like a spring mist. Harry saw Hermione close her eyes and breath deeply as she accepted the spell into herself, and the responsibility she'd avowed to. Neville and Enola withdrew their hands as the golden line of magic faded into their respective skins. Hermione opened her eyes, steely and determined and brown as freshly tilled earth.

Harry leaned in. And he whispered. "I hope the next vow we make like this isn't quite so morbid."

Hermione smiled warmly at him. "It wont be...but I'll mean it just as much."

Harry held her gaze and shuddered. His mind drifted to that cluster of silver nuggets in his alchemy closet. Maybe he'd sneak out to his forge tonight. He had something he needed to craft.

* * *

Hermione was sat on the toilet for at least half an hour. She was so afraid to look at the little Muggle device in her hand that she was frozen in place, unable to move. The cubicle of the restroom of Leaky Cauldron was frightfully small, but it encapsulated her feelings of being trapped almost callously well. She felt enclosed on all sides, the world heaving in on her as she sat stock still, with her knickers round her ankles.

And it was no better outside.

"If that strip turns blue, I'll kick you in the stomach myself."

"You're _so_ not helping, Sue," Hermione retorted angrily.

"You'll thank me for it later," said Susan, tapping her foot on the stall door. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, people will think we're going down on each other in here."

_"What?!"_

"Don't sound so scandalised," said Susan. "I'll have you know I'm a very good shag, when I want to be. Before Blaise forced me down the aisle, I was fighting the wizards off. Witches, too, if you must know."

"Really?" asked Hermione. She'd always suspected Sue was partial to a bit of fanny. She stood just a little too close when they shared communal showers after the gym or swimming club. This just confirmed it.

"Merlin, yes," said Sue, her tone dreamy. "Before Jenny made an honest witch out of Sally-Anne, me and_ Miss_ Perks used to have some _very_ intimate girls nights in at our flat, if you know what I mean. She was a part time rep for Ann Summers, did you know?"

"Of course," said Hermione, still marvelling at the revelations. "Where do you think I got my Rampant Rabbit from? Not exactly two-a-knut on Diagon, are they?"

Susan chuckled. "I probably test ran that one. Sally and me used to have some seriously steamy sessions with her merchandise. Quality control, you know? Did you get one with an anal attachment?"

"Susan! _Honestly!"_

"What?" Sue replied, unabashed. "Gotta have a little bum play for it to be any fun. Not even a little tickler on the underside?"

"I am _not_ having this conversation with you right now," said Hermione, blushing despite the cubicle door between them.

"If you insist. But Min, really, you're missing out..."

"I'm having a slight panic attack here," said Hermione, shrilly. "This really isn't helping."

"Maybe, if you'd played Ron a little better, this minor mishap might not have happened."

Hermione scoffed. "I can just about not top myself, having to endure the two-and-a-half minutes of missionary, and two inches of Ron, I have to put up with every month," she spat. "I am _not_ encouraging more positions, definitely not offering more _holes_. For fucks sake, Sue. You're supposed to be supporting me here!"

"I am," said Sue. "I'm just saying. I never let Blaise finish in any part of me that might lead to babies. I think I'd rather slit my throat than bear his spawn."

"That attitude will get you killed," said Hermione, warningly.

Sue huffed outside the door. "Well, its not as if you're exactly thrilled that Ron might have knocked you up."

Hermione shuddered at the notion. _I'm not pregnant, I'm not pregnant. I cast the Contraceptive Charm soon enough..._

"Anyway," Sue went on. "I though your Bedding Rite was only carried out last week. Why the fuck did you sleep with him again before you had to?"

Hermione sucked in a breath, and swallowed at the memory. She reached into her bag on instinct to touch up the make-up covering her black eye. Susan was three sheets to the wind from pre-drinks before they'd even met that night. She hadn't noticed so far...

"It wasn't by choice."

Susan stopped her foot tapping. Hermione could hear the tone of her breathing change. It was rapid, angry now.

"Min...did he...did he hurt you?"

Hermione gave a mirthless chuckle. "He isn't big enough to hurt me, Sue. My Rabbit has helped me with _that_."

"But he did force you?" Susan asked, gently.

Hermione sighed. "You know he pretty much _always_ forces me, if I haven't just given in first."

"Min...open the door."

Hermione stood, reluctantly. She raised a shaking hand, and looked at the pregnancy test she was holding..and took a happy, relieved breath. It was negative. She smiled broadly, then pulled her underwear and jeans up. Then she unlocked the door.

And screamed in terror. For Ron was standing before her, holding Susan's severed head in his hand.

"Bitch! You think I've forced you before...get over that cistern!"

Hermione screamed again and woke, kicking and screaming against the confines of her quilt, which were pinning her in. She was stupefied by sleep, still held by the potency of the nightmare. Her nightie was soaked in sweat. Her mind was so shaken she couldn't get her bearings. She was lost, afraid, and shaking from the cold engulfing her.

There was a swirl of air nearby, then she was being scooped up into strong, protective arms. And hugged so tightly, so lovingly, she couldn't breathe for it. Waves of adoring energy were flowing into her, making her giddy with happiness...and turning her rumbling fear into animalistic lust. She turned her head and bit wantonly into the flesh she found there, nibbled at a downy-haired nipple, grazed her teeth against the solid muscle of a chest so familiarly scented...

"Harry!"

"It's alright...sshhh...I'm here...ssshhh, now...it's alright..."

Damned fucking Merlin it was alright! Harry was naked to the waist, cradling her in his surprisingly strong arms. Hermione played up being still in the throes of anguish, nuzzling her head against the exposed skin of his torso. He was astonishingly solid, built far more powerfully than she had imagined. She thrilled at that. For some reason, she'd figured all his power was in his magic alone. How wrong she was! Harry was not athlete-muscle, but he was toned, defined. Hermione's lust threatened to overwhelm her.

"I _know_ you're feeling better," Harry teased sultrily. "You're a terrible actress."

Hermione sat up and blushed. "Harry...you're so _fit_."

Harry frowned at her. "No need to sound _so_ surprised..."

"Sorry," said Hermione, quickly. "I just didn't think..."

"That I took care of myself?" asked Harry. "I got into the habit in Germany. Dietmar was an Olympic-level _demon_ on the gymnastic rings. Built like a brick shithouse. I'm too sinewy for that. But I get my wiry ass as trim as I can. I cheat, obviously. Through mediation and yoga rituals. But it works."

"Fuck me, does it! And then some!" Hermione swooned. She traced a finger down Harry's chest, grinning at the trail of goosebumps she caused. She looked up lustily. "Ticklish?"

"Hermione, just touching your _hair _gives me a semi-on," Harry breathed back. "You don't even want to _know_ what that's doing!"

"Then let's do something about it..."

Her fingers traced the drawstring of Harry's pyjama bottoms. The air was thrumming with dense energy. It caused the petals of Hermione's flowers to wilt. Then Harry snatched out, grabbing her hand firmly, stopping her.

"No...not after something like _this_," he said, strongly but breathily. Hermione's loins mewled in frustration, a sound that reached her throat. She tried to reach lower again. But Harry was determined. He eased her hand back up, firmly but gently. "I said _no_. Now, tell me what happened? Why did you scream?"

Hermione huffed, slightly angrily. Why would Harry come to her rescue like this, in the middle of the night, in her _bed_, if he wasn't going to see it through? He sensed the rise in her ire, and backed away, easing his grip on her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly. "I just don't want it like this. It feels wrong...you've had it wrong so much..."

Hermione felt her heart bleed, it took her anger with it. Her heart pulsed with such love for Harry in that moment...she couldn't have articulated it if she'd tried. "Oh, _Harry_...is that what this is?"

Harry looked down shyly, and picked at the corner of the quilt. "Yeah, it is. I want you _so_ _badly,_ Hermione...you have to believe that. But I don't want any part of it to be_ bad..._for _you..._when it happens. Not during, not after... and certainly not before. I'm not going to do this to cheer you up, or make you forget a nightmare about Ron. 'Cause that's what this was, isn't it?"

Hermione sighed. "It wasn't a _real_ nightmare, not like the last one. But Ron was in it, yes. He's just on my mind, or my nerves, after what we saw today, that's all."

Harry looked at her, dark rage stirring behind his eye. "I felt how much he frightens you. Is it always like that? Has it been that way for years?"

Hermione nodded sadly. "Ever since my wedding night."

Harry snatched out at her, drawing her so close, so emotionally close, that their magic collided. Then, something really odd happened.

Every nuance of their individual magic seemed to _reach out _for the others'.

They both felt it, looking at each other in utter astonishment. And both reflected a breathless shiver that passed through them. They were powerless against what was happening. Harry gave to it first, somehow Hermione felt that. As though the subconscious part of her mind, connected to her magic, felt Harry's submission. Hermione gave in as instantly as she could in response.

And then their magic touched, entwined, practically fused them in the moment.

Hermione had forgotten how to breathe. Her heart was racing, her entire body fluttering. Her stomach was doing cartwheels and her knickers were so damp there was a trickle of moisture tickling down her inner thigh. And she could feel something very firm and solid, quite different from Harry's solid body elsewhere, lodged against the side of her leg. Her eyes widened as she assessed the dimensions, only partially pressed into her thigh. And an astonished thought hit her.

She was going to need a bigger boat.

Harry was looking guilty and ashamed. He tried to move away. Hermione snatched him back.

"Dont you even _dare!" _Hermione breathed. "We wont do anything, Harry...but you can still hold me. You can let me feel _that._"

Harry glanced awkwardy at her. He seemed scared, lost in a new and frightening world. He looked unspeakably vulnerable. Hermione couldn't qualify his look with the new, powerful man she was falling so deeply, so badly, in love with. His body tensed, his eye fluttered with fear.

"I...I can do that...I think."

And he did, warm and firm. Hermione was half mindless at the embrace. She'd never felt as close to Harry, as though broken through his most delicate of boundaries, as she did now. She was fiercely keen not to spook him, having got this close, this intimate. She was shyly astonished at the situation. She'd been abused, been raped, been exposed to the sexual deviancy of a Death Eater in Ron Weasley. But _Harry_ was the reticent one, the one fearful in the face of _her_. It was so fundamentally backward. Hermione struggled to process it.

"Harry...I love you."

It was all she could think to say, to make him feel better.

But Harry had stopped breathing at her words. His body had tensed as if under curse. But he was so close she could see his pulse hammering in his neck, his throat full from dry shock. He just didn't know how to respond to Hermione's oddly-timed declaration. She watched him, waiting for a response, then understanding immediately that he was utterly incapable of anything of the sort.

Because, as Hermione realised with a sob, Harry had never been told he was loved before.

She caught him before he broke down, dragging him into the most tender hug she could muster. Harry just fell into her shoulder and cried. And cried. Hermione held him close and let him. Feeling each heave of his chest, each wave of unbridled emotion, as if Harry had made them just for her. They weren't tears of sadness, but of joy. Joy Harry didn't think he was owed, but for which Hermione couldn't imagine anyone more worthy.

And she hugged him with everything she had just to tell him so. Harry just throbbed in her arms, responding physically, as words had failed him. Hermione felt her essence melt into Harry's. He need never return her words, for she knew unequivocally that he felt the same. But Harry was nothing if not a master of his weaknesses.

"I love you, too."

Hermione was sent so light-headed she might have fainted. She had never heard any words spoken with more sincerity. And Harry was saying them to _her_. She began to cry, too. For she had forgotten what it was to feel loved, herself. She was overwhelmed by the sensation, the immense joy it inspired, something she'd believed was long lost to the world. But here it was, flowing back and forth between Harry's heart and her own, warm and renewing and just the most intensely lovely thing in existence.

Hermione smiled through her tears. "Will you shag me _now?"_

Harry laughed and pulled her close. "Hermione...I'd last about twelve seconds! You deserve so much more."

"But what a twelve seconds they'd be!" Hermione giggled, clutching so hard at Harry's chest she might have been trying to crush him. "Seriously, Harry...you cant keep me waiting like this. I might explode."

Harry chortled. "You can still do transfiguration, can't you? Be imaginative."

Hermione scoffed in response. "If I wanted a dildo, Harry, I'd knock on Ann's door. She has _loads_, apparently. I'm holding out for the real thing."

"Tonight's not the night," said Harry. "It's not just your nightmare...the palace has a weird air about it tonight..."

Just then, Sally popped into view. She looked curiously at Hermione, and Harry half-naked next to her. She covered her eyes.

"Ah, Lady Hermione, you awake, good," said Sally. "You friend, Miss Sue, be waking. Lady Longbottom thought you should know. Master Harry...put some clothes on!"

Hermione blushed, but Harry just shrugged at her. "Sally, can you take Hermione to the infirmary to see Susan? I'll just get dressed and join you there."

"Getting dressed be for the best, Master Harry," said Sally. "Your boobies be showing!"

Harry laughed. "I'm not ashamed of my _baby A's,_ Sally. But, you're right. I'll make myself decent."

And with that, he Apparated away. Sally took her hand from her eyes, and looked at Hermione with a scandalised expression.

"Lady Hermione!" she admonished. "It not be your wedding night, or anything!"

Hermione giggled. "I don't think I can wait that long, Sally. But nothing happened tonight, I promise."

"Didn't look like nothing..."

"I'd just had a nightmare," said Hermione. "Harry was trying to make me feel better. He _loves_ me, do you know?"

"World and his dog be knowing _that,_ Lady Hermione," said Sally off-handedly. "Yous must be the last to know."

"But isn't it _wonderful_?" said Hermione, dreamily.

"Lady Hermione make Master Harry smile," said Sally. "That not be wonder...it be miracle. But Lady Hermione be needed downstairs. Up, now, and we go."

Hermione obeyed the command, rising from bed and grabbing her dressing gown, before Sally spirited them to the infirmary.

The scene inside was borderline chaos. Enola's mother, Arianwen, was trying to calm Susan, who was thrashing about in something of a panic. There were two other, older witches, who Hermione had never met, standing with their wands ready nearby, in case Sue got so bad she needed sedating. Enola was on the other side of the bed with Cassie, who was holding a potion vial in her hand.

"Get it out! Get it out of me!"

Susan was screeching in angry torment. Hermione was shocked at the vitriol of her tone. She caught Enola's eye, and Neville's wife coaxed her forward with a look.

"Sue! Sue! It's me! It's Minny."

Susan froze instantly as Hermione reached her, looking at her in utter disbelief.

"M-Min...is that really you?" Susan stammered.

"Does it feel like me?" asked Hermione, darting in and giving Susan a bone-crunching bear hug, only matched in terms of intensity by the one she received in return.

"It is you! I'd know those perky tits anywhere!"

"For fucks sake, Sue!" Hermione laughed.

"Harry told me you were alive...I didn't believe it," said Sue. Then she gasped out loud. "Fuck me, Min..._Harry Potter is alive!_ Do you know? Have you seen him? You must have, he said you were here...wherever this is..."

"I have seen him. Only _really _close up," said Hermione, smirking as she drew away.

Susan gaped at her shrewdly. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that she knows the texture of his tongue just as well as the contours of his forehead," said Enola, grinning.

Hermione blushed and glowered at her. "How do _you_ know? Harry and I are always really discreet..."

"Oh come _on,_ Min," said Enola. "Do you really think that Harry goes anywhere in the house or grounds where he _isn't_ monitored? We take it in turns watching the soft-core porn shows you two put on. _Hot as fuck_, by the way. Just saying. If you ever fancy a third wheel...

"In any case, the house practically _ignit_es when you two go for one of your _walks_...seriously, Cassie, here, came the other day just from being too dense to run outside when you two vanished into Harry's secret copse..."

Cassie blushed. "Guilty as charged. Fuck me, I need to get laid. More than Ennie here...and that's saying something."

Enola frowned at her. "Nev's just having some stresses right now...being a Daddy affects men differently..."

Hermione cocked her head curiously at Enola, who looked away with a deep flush. Hermione shook the inference off for now, but she knew a good potion that might help...

Speaking of potions, Cassie was tying to offer one to Susan. "This is just a Calming Draught. It will help, I promise."

Susan looked questioningly to Hermione for guidance. Hermione nodded at her to accept the potion, which she then took and downed. Then she turned back to Hermione.

"So...Harry Potter is back from the dead...and you're fucking him already? Good work, Min!"

"Harry and I aren't sleeping together," Hermione corrected.

"Yet," Enola quipped. "But the wedding night cant be far off."

Susan's eyebrows nearly took off. _"Wedding night?"_

Hermione shook her head. "Enola, here, likes to exaggerate."

"I do not," Enola returned, mildly affronted. "But if you want to suggest a different explanation for Harry disappearing off to his forge earlier - with only enough metal in his pockets to make a _little_ object like, oh, I don't know...a _ring -_ then I'm all ears."

Hermione's eyebrows joined Sue's on the ceiling. Enola just hooted a laugh at her. Hermione couldn't right her racing mind at that. It was crazy, it was nuts...it was...it was...what was it? She couldn't focus. The image was just too insane, but so wonderful at the same time. Her heart wanted to take flight. The thought of Harry, out in the middle of the grounds, forging a wedding ring for her, loving her with every chink of his hammer, promising her his love in the band he was making...it swept her breath away.

She tugged hard at the infernal piece of ugly copper that was on her finger already. It was so in the way. There had to be some way to remove it. For if, in some mental reality, Harry proposed, got down on one knee and offered her the ring he had so caringly made, then she would accept so readily, so joyously that she would implode with the frustration at not being able to wear the piece of jewellery that announced it to the world. But the other ring would make that exact thing happen.

And she had never hated Ron more acidically than she did right then. She was quite convinced no human being had ever hated another quite as much as she hated Ronald Weasley in that instant.

But she was about to be given stiff competition.

For Sue was talking again, quite lucid under the influence of Cassie's powerful calming draught.

"So...you're saying its too late to stop it? I'm stuck with it? You cant get it out?"

"No. You're too far gone," said Arianwen, stepping forward to field the question.

Sue huffed and nodded. "I see."

"What's going on?" asked Hermione.

"We've conducted extensive tests on your friend," said Arianwen. "And its quite certain...she is _with child_."

Hermione gasped. Sue had lost all colour from her face. She looked the grey of day-old porridge.

"Oh..._Sue!"_

_"_I don't want it, Min," she breathed. "But its too late to stop, apparently. I have that fuckers' spawn kicking me as we speak. Like father, like son."

She laughed heartlessly.

"Sue...I...we can...oh, Sue...I don't know what to say!" Hermione stuttered.

"We should be thankful," said Arianwen. "If it wasn't for the amniotic fluid from the womb...we may never have a forged a potion potent enough to heal your wounds."

"Yeah, I'm really grateful," Susan replied, bitterly. She stood, and tried to walk away. Arianwen moved to stop her, protesting that she needed rest. Susan shrugged her off. "I'm stiff as a board...I just need to stretch my legs..."

Hermione saw what happened next in horrifying slow motion, but was unable to react to stop it. Susan limped to a table nearby, where a probe-wand was sat on a silver dish. In a quick movement, which defied her injuries, Susan pulled Cassie's wand from her waistband, and transfigured the probe into a deadly, serrated-blade knife.

A knife she began angrily driving in and out of her belly.

The place descended into anarchy. Blood sprouted like a furious fountain from Susan's vigorous stabbing. Hermione was frozen at the sight, held fast through shock and the assorted screams and cries issuing forth from everyone else. Cassie yelled, and tried to retrieve her wand, but that blade was _very_ sharp. Enola pulled her friend back, then cried out for Susan to stop, as the other healers tried to move around behind her.

But Susan wouldn't stop. Her eyes were manic, her ugly determination to destroy the life growing inside her was her only imperative. She was looking woozy. She had lost so much blood. It was _everywhere_. It was on Hermione. She tried to rub it off. But Sue just kept thrusting that huge blade into her womb. Someone had to stop her...

_"Stupefy!_"

Harry's spell knocked Sue clean off her feet and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter. He rushed forward and lifted her up, carrying her back to the bed. He cast healing spells so fast and so powerful that they caused a breeze in the room. It made Hermione's hair stand on end. Enola joined him and soon their wands were almost like duelling chopsticks, doing all they could to repair the damage. After a few minutes, they stopped and drew breath.

Hermione edged forward, pressing close to Harry. "Is she..."

"She'll live," said Harry.

"But...the baby...the baby's dead..." said Enola heavily. "There's nothing we could do..."

Harry roared in frustration. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling his back into her chest. Harry heaved in her arms, roiling in..._something_...Hermione couldn't pick apart his emotions just then.

"It isn't your fault, Harry," Enola cooed soothingly. "You did your best..."

_Don't talk to him in that tone_, Hermione thought jealously. It was _her_ job to calm him. Enola needed to back off just now.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, turning him. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry breathed. "I tried..."

"I know, and you were brilliant," said Hermione. "As always. You saved Sue's life."

"But the baby's..."

"_She_ took it," said Hermione. "She didn't want it, but she will have to deal with what she's done. You just gave her the chance to do that."

"If that had been you...with Ron...if you had tried..."

Harry tailed off, couldn't finish the sentence. The images were just too distressing for him.

Hermione shuddered. "Have you been watching my dreams?"

"Don't hate me...I just want to protect you," said Harry lowly. "Ron can get in that way, I think. Its one of the spells we cant remove from you...I _felt _him invade you tonight."

Hermione's jaw fell open. Ron could _invade_ her dreams? She felt dirty, violated. But at the same time, the idea that Harry was in her dreams too - in ways he wasn't already - was insanely comforting.

"Harry - can you stop him?" Hermione asked. "Stop him doing that?"

"I could, in ritual," said Harry. "But I kind of want to catch him in your mind...and fuck him up when I do. Besides, the ritual would be very..._intimate_."

Hermione coiled her arms around him. She felt an ugly hope settle on her - she hoped Enola, and all the other bitches in the room - were watching their embrace.

"Harry - I want to be as intimate with you as I can possibly be," said Hermione. "In every way that exists. I'm not afraid."

"Are you sure? Its an intense rite. It takes twenty-two hours just to prepare the ritual space."

"I'm absolutely certain," said Hermione. "Set it up. Oh, Ennie...that'll be the heads up you've been waiting for."

Enola whooped. Cassie just swore, then sighed in defeat. "Fine...I'll fetch my purse."

* * *

Harry sat in front of the headstone and tried to bring order to his fractured mind. He might have been there for hours, days even. He'd lost any concept of time, could no longer track the passage of seconds and minutes as they ticked by. All he could focus on was the scene - the blood, the chaos...

...and the screams of the baby he couldn't save.

They were haunting him, plaguing his mind, both waking and in sleep. At least, what little sleep he had managed in the past five days. He was listless, dazed, unable to snap himself out of this stupor.

Even his wand felt quiet. Usually, he was pointedly aware of his magical tool. It thrummed gently at his side, then ignited when he had need of it. But now, it felt dormant.

As though it, too, were guilty of failing the murdered infant. Its powerful carved runes silenced by the blood of the lost innocent.

Even Hermione's soothing words had failed to soften the blow. She had tried so hard, bless her, to free him from his dark mood. To tell him that Susan didn't want the baby, that her hatred of Zabini was so great that she, herself, should have seen the extreme reaction coming. She told him, over and over, it wasn't his fault, there was nothing more he could have done.

But she couldn't hear the screams...

For Harry had done something he never did in healing. He tried to use his own magic to save the child's life. It was more intimate than simply using spells or runic casting. It used his own life-force to try and save another. It failed...but the brief connection he'd had to the little boy was so harrowing, Harry felt mentally damaged from the experience.

For the child had called out, in fear, in anguish, in intense pain. Begged for help, to be allowed to live. And Harry had tried with everything he had to provide that chance. But he hadn't been good enough.

And when the child expired, Harry felt a little piece of himself die with it.

Or, at least, that was how it felt. Like having a hole in the heart. One no amount of cajoling from Hermione, or trying to see things from Sue's perspective, seemed to touch for comfort. Harry felt wounded, broken, and desperate for any kind of respite from this restless misery.

Movement drew Harry's attention just then and he reached for his wand on instinct.

"Don't shoot...its just me."

Hermione was trying to be light-hearted, but her heart wasn't in it. Her tone betrayed that. Or maybe Harry's bleak state of mind was radiating off him like a bad smell, infecting her, too.

Harry looked up as Hermione tentatively approached. "Hey."

"Hey," she repeated, sitting slowly at his side. "Still thinking about it?"

Harry breathed in heavily. "Yeah."

Hermione nodded sadly. "Me too."

"Suppose I'm just looking to my mother for guidance," said Harry, his eye fixed on the headstone again. "For a way to deal with the loss of such an innocent life. But was it really so innocent, when it was made out of such hatred? From an act so forced and negative? How have things come to this state?"

"Its the world Tom Riddle wants to cultivate, Harry," said Hermione, gently. "One where fear and hate are the norm. One you and I are going to tear down and burn."

Harry's heart stirred at that. "How's Sue? I hear she came round this morning."

"Oddly, she seems fine," said Hermione. "She doesn't have one ounce of remorse. Its chilling, in a way. But she might still be in shock over everything. It will sink in one day."

"I've arranged for her to have a room in the North Wing, near the roundtower. Its quiet in that part of the palace. I think she might need that while she comes to terms and tries to adjust. I've assigned Phebos, Rhian's daughter, to look after her. She'll be good with her fragility."

"Thanks, Harry. That's really kind of you."

Harry nodded, but continued to just stare at the headstone. He might as well have been looking through it. His gaze was distant, his mind unable to focus on any one point. He sighed again.

"This has really cut to you, hasn't it?" asked Hermione. She quested her hand towards his forearm. She seemed nervous again, as though not sure if she was still allowed to touch him. Harry wanted to assure her she still had permission.

Her touch was the only thing that calmed him right now.

Harry reached out and took her hands, threading their fingers together, hoping to communicate the message he didn't have the words to convey. "It's just...I came back to make this place a haven, to preserve life. This was the first death here. I don't know...I suppose its just rocked me a little. The nature of it...the victim. I'm supposed to prevent things like this. Maybe I'm a little in shock..."

"Maybe you are," said Hermione, smoothing the back of Harry's palm with her thumb. "But you couldn't have prevented what happened. Sue was determined...if she hadn't done it then, it would have happened later. And at least you were able to save her life, Enola too."

Harry turned his head to look in her face. "You were jealous of her."

He framed the words half-questioningly, as though genuinely astonished at them.

"How could you tell?" Hermione asked.

"Your mood swung like a pendulum," said Harry. "It was like a rancid spear passing through me. Why are you jealous of Enola?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione huffed. "Aside from the fact that she's goddess-level beautiful and sexy as fuck, she has this personal connection to you that I know little about, nor share my own version of with you. I know you have your secrets, Harry, and that she's married to Neville. But there's a way she looks at you, and the way you look back. You have a past together that I know nothing about...and I don't like it."

"Enola and I are beyond friends," said Harry tiredly. "I've explained that to you. You're just going to have to trust that while, yes, she's important to me, nobody in the whole damned world is more important to me than _you_. I don't know how else to say it."

"Will you ever explain why you're so close to her?"

"One day," Harry promised. "But my own issues are wrapped up in the story. It will be a hard one for me to tell. My darknesses go deep, Hermione. Just know that, without Enola's help, I may never have taken the first steps to climb out of the well they created, and that she made personal sacrifices of her own as part of that assistance. We bonded through them. But, seriously, she isn't a threat to you."

Hermione scoffed. "A woman _that_ gorgeous will be a threat to anyone."

Harry chuckled. "There's probably just as much of a chance of her sleeping with _you_ as there is with_ me_."

"I wouldn't be entirely against that idea," Hermione teased sultrily, making Harry break out in goosebumps. "And she did offer..."

Harry frowned. "Its tempting, but I'm not having a foursome. Neville can keep his cock quite to himself, thank you very much!"

Hermione burst out laughing. It was the sweetest sound. It improved Harry's mood no end.

"At the risk of steering the conversation back to the morbid," Hermione said, once she calmed down. "But I've been thinking...I was wondering if you'd be prepared to do me quite a weird favour. As I'm the love of your life, and everything."

"You can bribe me with _that_ anytime you like," Harry grinned to her. "What do you need?"

"It's not so much a need..." Hermione began. "Its just...my parents. I dont know what happened to them, where their remains ended up. I'd like to find them...maybe bring them here. Give them a proper burial? But if this is just for your family..."

"Your parents are my family," said Harry firmly. "Or maybe, when I'm quite sure you aren't going to realise the colossal mistake you're making in being with me, I will make them my family. Posthumous parents-in-law, if you will"

Hermione gasped and simply stared at him, smiling. "Planning on making this arrangement permanent then, are you?"

"Hermione - I'm a King. I need a Queen. There's only one woman who I want in that role, if she's silly enough to consider me."

Hermione leaned in and hugged Harry tightly. "In that case, your Queen would like you to find the ones who murdered her parents, kill them if they aren't already dead, then find their bones and bring them here so we can bury them properly. Please."

"Consider it done, my Lady," said Harry. "I think a plot next to Mum and Dad would be nice."

"How will you even find them?" asked Hermione.

"The round-ups had to have been organised, co-ordinated," said Harry. "Your parents' names must have been on a list somewhere. I assume they were deposited into one of the mass graves?"

Hermione paled, and nodded.

"There aren't that many of them," said Harry. "Each one must have been assigned an executioner, and someone to bury the bodies. Either way, we'll find the culprits. And they'll take your parents place in the ground."

"If I ever forget to tell you, I really love your dark side," Hermione swooned. "Well, I love all your sides, actually. But your dark one might be my favourite. Its easily the hottest."

"Really?" Harry smirked. "Well, in that case, I'm feeling rather dark right now. Let's take a walk...somewhere my parents wont see!"

Hermione giggled, then allowed Harry to lead her into the wilderness of the grounds, were he had every intention of leading her astray.

* * *

Harry disappeared for three whole days, which made Hermione very cross. He didn't tell her specifically where he had gone, but she pretty much knew his intent. She'd asked him for something, and he was so insanely lovely that he wouldn't rest until he'd delivered it for her. Her heart swooped at the very thought, until her intense misery at missing him kicked in and she started calling him names.

Enola started avoiding her after the second day. She had been a bit wary of her in any case, and Hermione wondered if Harry had told Neville's wife about her rabid jealousy of her. Enola was a little cautious around her, careful to not provoke her rage about Harry being AWOL. But after Hermione started her ranting monologues about Harry, Enola stayed away lest she be the next target of Hermione's ire.

So she became lonely very quickly. She helped Sue to settle into her new suite, and filled her in on all things Harry, but the touchy issue of Sue's actions put an unspoken barrier between them. Sue seemed keen to steer the conversation towards Hermione and Harry's sex life - which she refused to believe was confined to heavy petting at best - but it was all a fairly obvious front, an avoiding tactic to prevent confronting the horrors that had taken place in the infirmary.

Susan needed time, to be left alone, to properly process what had happened. Hermione gave her that space, but with Enola giving her space in return it left Hermione in something of a social black hole. But then, on the evening of the third day of Harry's absence, Rhian popped into view in her bedroom with a new dress and a message.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, pointing at the dress. It looked to be made of some sort of scaly leather.

"A battle-dress for yous," said Rhian, proffering it to her. "Dragonhide for protection, chameleon skin to _blend in_."

Hermione was suddenly taut. "And why would I need either of those things?"

"For yous be going out into the world tonight, Mistress Hermione," said Rhian. "Master Harry be waiting for you. And he wants you to be safe."

Hermione's breathing changed. Harry was home? Since when? She didn't feel the wards shift as she usually did when he returned.

"I didn't notice Harry coming in," said Hermione. "When did that happen?"

"Half an hour back, maybe less," said Rhian. "He be very serious tonight. He keep his emotions under check. Come along, Mistress, best not leave Master Harry waiting."

Hermione stood and allowed Rhian to help her change into the battle dress. She had noticed how the Head Elf had stopped calling her _Lady, _in favour of _Mistress_. That spoke quietly to her heart, but she barely heard it over the nervous way it was suddenly beating. The air of the house _was_ very serious, Hermione only noticed it now. Perhaps she'd been in such a funk of a mood that she'd switched off her new perceptive ability.

But it was back on now, and Hermione shuddered as the low throb of energy settled on her. Harry was worried, she could sense that. She was attuning more and more to the feel of the house when he was around. It was wildly thrilling to tap into these energies so easily now. She didn't think she could possibly get any closer to Harry, in any way bar physical, but every time she thought that, a new way cropped up. That was giddyingly thrilling, too.

And this was the latest one. But, tonight, Hermione was unsettled by it. Harry had never felt this serious, this alert. It was a sobering sensation. It was like he was mentally prepared for a fight, rather than the explosive anger that had spewed from him in Glastonbury. That night, Harry knew there was a _possibility_ they'd run into trouble.

This time, he was absolutely _certain_ they would.

And that irrefutable truth settled on Hermione like a lead apron. She took a rattling breath to calm her speeding nerves. She steeled herself as she considered her reflection in the mirror. This was war...this was what it was all about, how it felt. And she was Harry's Queen...Queen's didn't show fear. She would hold her head up, hold her wand firm, and stand at Harry's side. Stand at _her_ _man's _side, at her King's side.

And they would fuck up any fool who dared threaten then.

She grinned at her reflection for comfort. Actually, she looked good. No, she looked better than good. The battle-dress was fit to form, and form had never been a problem for Hermione, since she'd filled out in her late teens. The dress needed to be able to move, but to protect her at the same time. She looked like Ann or Fan...a bad-ass bitch. She was pleased with herself.

"Good, it fits," said Rhian. "Come Mistress, time be short."

Rhian offered Hermione a hand and Apparated her to Harry, was who pacing around his Secret Copse. The fountain was softly sprinkling water, and moonlight tinted one side of the space. Harry was moving in and out of the shadows it threw. Hermione hurried to him, as Rhian popped away.

"Well, you've been gone _way _too long," said Hermione as she reached him. She tugged up his shawl abrasively and planted a deep, full mouth kiss on him. Harry thrust his tongue forward first, before snatching his arms around her and smothering her in a passionate embrace. Hermione moaned into his mouth. He always left her senseless with the intensity of his kisses.

They broke apart for breath, which came in panting huffs to them both. Harry drew Hermione close to him. "You look fucking _gorgeous_ tonight. That dress...oh my word...sex on a fucking _stick_!"

"I've missed you, too!" Hermione giggled into his shoulder, hugging him close. "Where have you _been!_ And why have you got me all dressed up?"

Harry pulled her away, and dragged his eye up and down her frame several times. Hermione shivered pleasantly, despite the humid night. "Its getting you _dressed down_ I'm thinking about! Seriously...I was in such a foul mood when I got home...but, this...phew! I haven't got the words, hun."

Hermione beamed, then pulled Harry back to her lips. He went without the barest of resistance.

"I don't think I will ever kiss you enough," she said breathily, as they eventually broke apart.

"As long as you don't stop trying," Harry grinned back. "But we do have some serious business to attend to tonight."

Hermione took another steadying gulp of air. "Where are we going?"

"I've met with Narcissa Malfoy," said Harry, guiding Hermione to one of the stone benches by the fountain. "She's set up a meeting with the person who can help us find your parents. Tonight. Hermione...I don't think I can be any more blatant about this...going out of the wards is going to be extremely dangerous. I...I took two more lives in the past few days. It was self-defence, but it is what it is. We are being hunted. You need to be prepared for that."

Hermione scowled crossly. "You were attacked?"

"Yeah."

"And you killed them?"

"I had no choice," said Harry lowly. He looked cautiously in Hermione's direction.

"I hope you mutilated the fuckers," she said angrily. "How _dare_ they attack you! Were you man or lion?"

"One of each," Harry replied.

"Good. I hope whoever it was suffered."

"Oh...that much is certain."

"And, if we run into trouble tonight, don't hold back on my account," said Hermione forcefully. Then she aired a shame she'd been carrying for days. "I was _rubbish_ in Glastonbury. I will be better for you, Harry, I promise."

Harry looked at her, confused and startled. "Er...you saved my life by crushing someone's _entire_ bone structure! If that's your idea of _rubbish_ then I can't wait for you to be good!"

"Oh, it will be a masterpiece of pain," said Hermione. "Seriously, Harry, the idea of someone threatening you...it makes me crazed...worse than that..._demonic_."

Harry laughed. "Then come, my little demon, we don't want to be late."

Harry stood, offered Hermione his hand, and they walked together to the edge of the wards and out into the world.

And Hermione felt like she'd been soaked by a bucket of ice. She sucked in a breath.

"They know we're out, don't they?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. But I've reconfigured the exit portal to deposit us miles away from the palace. They'll never zero in on the place. Come on."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione, scurrying behind in Harry's wake.

"A little country pub," said Harry. "Its secluded, off the beaten track. We will have an hour at best till Riddle's tracking teams locate us. Neville and Owain have been working on disrupting the charms on Magical Movement, but the spells are dense. Its a shot in the dark if we can be effective against them."

"So that's why we're running cross country on foot?" Hermione smirked at him.

"Something like that," Harry volleyed back with a grin.

Hermione continued to follow Harry. She didn't feel at all afraid any more, despite the risk. Harry's mere presence was just immensely protective. She was sure nothing could hurt her if Harry was nearby. It was a little exhilarating, to be defying the oppression she knew so well. She could almost bounce for the restless energy flowing through her. She didn't think resistance would feel this _good_. If she had, she considered rationally, she might have butchered Ron in his sleep years ago.

That brought a dark smile to her lips.

They hurried on through the night for ten minutes or so. This really was an out of the way pub, wherever it was. _Rural_ didn't even touch the sides of the definition. Just as Hermione was about to question Harry's judgement on their location, they came over the rise of a shallow hill and the pub emerged before them.

It was called _The Skirrid Inn_. It was an old coaching inn, complete with ancient stonework and a rusty sign, which swung in a light breeze with a satisfyingly atmospheric squeak. The courtyard looked like something from a ghost story. Hermione loved it, with its deep shadows and original cobblestone driveway. Inside, the inn was quaint and cosy. Warm, reddish light spread out from a faux-log-fire, which dominated a wall on the far side of a compact little lounge-bar. A handful of drinkers clustered around the bar and the small, circular tables crammed into the place.

Harry went to the bar and ordered an ale. He hadn't had a decent pint in a while, and _When in Rome_, as they say. Hermione opted for a pink gin and lemonade. Her and Sue were practically connoisseurs when it came to _Mother's Ruin_. They drank deeply, shamelessly. If Voldemort was coming for them, that was something to toast to. Harry turned to Hermione, smiling.

"This is good beer. One day, I'm going to take you out properly, without any of this crap hanging over us. And we're going to get _rat-arsed_ pissed! We'll drag Nev and Ennie with us. It'll be the _biggest_ laugh! Honestly, they cant drink for_ shit_. It'll be so funny."

Hermione laughed. "Consider it a date. Our first one."

"That's weird, isn't it?" said Harry pensively. "_Us_...on a date. Would you ever have thought?"

"Only in dreams I'd never have dared tell you about," Hermione confessed. "I proper fancied you back at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Harry grinned, taking a swig of ale and leaning on the bar. "Why didn't you ever say?"

"Same reason you never told me you liked me," said Hermione confidently. Harry roared with laughter. Hermione felt the sound spill into her like an elixir. "I knew...but I was scared of it. How do you rock up to your crush at thirteen and tell them you're obsessed with them?"

"A kiss? A cheeky bum pinch?" Harry offered. "I often thought about that."

Hermione blushed and giggled. "You thought about me pinching your bum?"

"No! Me doing that to _you_!" Harry corrected. "Have you _seen_ your arse? Its like a bloody peach. But you pinching mine would have been a nice gesture."

Hermione hooted with laughter. This _was_ weird...almost like a real date night. The most comfy one she could imagine. If she'd closed her eyes, she might have been able to block out the reality, to forget why they were really here. To think this was just a normal night out with her...whatever Harry was. What _was_ he? It was a curious question. _Boyfriend_ was too weak a definition, partner too vague.

Soulmate perhaps a little _too_ idealistic. Or maybe not.

In any case, they were here together, in every sense, and that was all that mattered. But the reason for their being there had reared its head, and wouldn't go away now it had.

"Who are we meeting, Harry?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"That's her, over in the corner," said Harry, with a nod.

Hermione gasped. She knew the bespectacled woman staring at them. She was stunned to see her.

"Irma Pince? _Madam_ Irma Pince?"

"It's nice to see you also, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince, as they sidled up to her table. "I'm glad you have managed to survive in these dark and insane times."

"Harry," said Hermione, looking confused. "I thought you said we were meeting with someone who knew where my parents' remains ended up? How can the Hogwarts _librarian_ do that?"

"Madam Pince was not just the librarian," said Harry.

"No, indeed," said Madam Pince. "I was also the Registrar of Hogwarts. I worked closely with Minerva McGonagall to locate and track magic-users who were eligible for scholarships to the school."

"And so, there is no greater authority on magical background than Irma, here," said Harry.

"Which is what led to my coercion by Lord Voldemort into his service," said Madam Pince, her tone one of deep shame and sadness. "He threatened my family, tortured them, forced me to help him."

"By doing what?" asked Hermione.

"By providing details of all non-Pureblood students and their families as far back as records were relevant," said Madam Pince. She took a long slug of wine in her shaking hands. "I was weak, and selfish. Thinking only of my own. I do not ask for forgiveness, Miss Granger. I deserve none."

Then she burst into tears, burrowing her head into her folded arms. Harry moved to comfort her. But Irma was beyond consolation.

"I-I'm responsible," she hiccuped. "For _so_ many deaths! I live every day in utter shame. I will have no afterlife. I will rot for eternity."

And fresh tears flowed. Hermione's heart broke at the sight. She smoothed the old librarian's shoulder.

"It isn't your fault," she whispered. "Voldemort is an evil man. You could not have resisted him. None of us could."

"But you can still do a little good," said Harry. "Help us. Tell us how to find the ones who murdered Hermione's parents."

Madam Pince nodded, drying her eyes. She reached into her handbag and drew out a piece of crumpled parchment.

"I was able to find the death warrant for your parents, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince. "Section Seven carried out the assassinations. They have always been keen on explicit record-keeping for their recruits. _Death Count_ is actually part of the candidate specification on their job application form."

Hermione felt a sliver of cold prickle over her skin. It was so callous, so calculated. Her parents had gone through this. She couldn't envisage it. Anger pumped through her veins.

"They were murdered at the Abingdon Pit, just outside Oxford," Madam Pince went on. "Agent Terry Boot was assigned the gruesome task. But..."

"But?" Harry asked.

Madam Pince swallowed hard. "A witness was always needed...for a positive identification. They were also required to check the bodies to make sure death was certain. They...they were offered all the wealth and assets of the deceased...as a form of compensation for their stresses."

Hermione felt disgusted. A putrid sickness swirled in her belly. She tried to shrug off the nagging piece of knowledge she was trying to ignore...as if she knew what was coming.

"Let me see the warrant," said Harry coldly. Hermione noticed his own anger flickering over his skin. He was flirting with turning golden, in matted fur. It was as if he already knew.

Madam Pince smoothed out the parchment with trembling fingers and slid it over to Harry. His eye dilated in unmitigated fury as it flashed over the words. Hermione edged around to read over his shoulder.

And her heart stopped.

Then she collapsed into her seat, as her worst horrors were confirmed. For there, at the bottom of the document, was a very familiar signature. One her own had once been forced next to on a very different piece of parchment...

_The Rt. Hon Lord R. B. Weasley._

Hermione fought to control her incensed, unrelenting anger. It was coming in violent waves that she felt powerless to stop.

"H-h...he-he...Ron...he signed my parent's _death warrant!"_" Hermione croaked out. "He claimed their assets...their wealth..."

"And their only daughter," Madam Pince pointed out.

Two lightbulbs smashed overhead, showering them with glass. Hermione's hatred, her fury, was surging out of her. She had no ability to control it. Harry reached over and touched her just then. Not with his hands, or his fingers. But with his own magic. It searched deep into her very being and enveloped it, caressed and soothed it. Harry pulled Hermione's destructive rage into himself, and she erupted. He absorbed it, casting runes on his forehead when his own body became overloaded. They glowed furiously, and Harry cast them into the coin at his throat. Even that didn't seem enough.

"Come on, Hermione," said Harry, urgently. He stood up. "We have to get outside before you bring the roof down on us!"

So they did. Harry hurried them to the pub exit and into the courtyard. Then he just abruptly stopped.

Something was very wrong.

It was utterly, _palpably_ dark. It was unnatural. There wasn't even the briefest sliver of light. The wind was whispering on the air, light and breathy, a mere shadow of sound. Harry was gripping Hermione's hand so hard it hurt. And she was suddenly so afraid of whatever it was facing them she had no breath to tell Harry to ease up. Blood was thumping and hammering hard in her ears. There were people ahead of them. Dozens of people. Hermione couldn't say how she knew, she just did.

Then a multitude of pinpricks of light fractured the complete blackness. They flickered against golden masks of wand-touting Death Eaters. Hermione couldn't believe how many there were, but they surrounded them in a massive semi-circle, boxing them in. They were three, four, maybe five deep in places. A growl escaped Harry's throat. It was so deep, so guttural, so immensely _dangerous_ that Hermione was as afraid of that as she was the enemies arranged against them.

And Harry struck first.

His spell was the most incredibly powerful piece of magic Hermione had ever felt. It even pushed _her_ back into the wall of the little pub, as the shockwave passed over her. It's light trail arced away from them and struck so many Death Eaters at once that Hermione had a wild thought that it would be over before it even started.

And then, it _actually _started.

Spells flew from everywhere, all angles, all at once, all aimed at Harry. And the yells and screams that accompanied them were _deafening._ Harry conjured a dome of pure energy that deflected all of them, then he was off, casting counter-curses and jinxes so fast that Hermione thought he would beat them all on his own. Then she heard a piercing scream, in his voice, as he was pinioned by two curses at once.

Then Hermione sprang to action. She flew forward, firing off every curse and spell she knew until she reached Harry's side. Several spells hit her, but the dress did its job and lessened the impact of them. Harry was getting hit more often, so Hermione could woman-up and deal with the blows she was receiving. Harry was duelling with six Death Eaters at once. So Hermione pinned her back to his, and took on the one's encroaching from the other side.

"Are you alright?" she cried through the din.

"Yeah, its just my pride that was wounded..." said Harry, his tone bizarrely light. "Bat-Bogey Hex...I mean...the _shame_!"

"Harry we have to get out of this...there are too many of them," said Hermione.

"On three I'm going to cut us a path out," Harry yelled. "Just run!"

Harry counted to three. Hermione felt his wand slash the heavy night air. A chain of fireballs, scores of them, flew out and sped at the Death Eaters. Agonised screams rent the sky in two. Hermione watched several bodies stumble away, covered in angry flames, flailing hands dabbing at the fire, futilely trying to save their doomed lives. It was totally surreal. The acrid smell of burning flesh would linger in Hermione's nostrils for the longest time.

But now Harry was pulling her forward. He had dragged her in front of him, his wand over her shoulder and those furious fireballs cutting a swath through the crowding enemies. They were almost free, then Hermione turned to cast more spells at the attackers coming at them from behind.

And then she saw it.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione breathed. She had lost every shade of colour from her face.

"What?" Harry yelled back. Now hardly seemed the time for her to start being shocked by his callousness in a fight.

"It's D-d-d-d," she stuttered. "Its Du-du..."

"What is it?"

Hermione could only stare in awestruck terror at something over Harry's shoulder. So he turned...and saw, quite clearly, _what_.

And all breath left his body in one go. He had just enough left to say the word Hermione had been trying to tell him. Or, rather, the_ name_.

"_Dumbledore_!"

Harry's old mentor was advancing on them, wand drawn, power so crazily potent pounding out from it that Harry's stomach churned as it hit him. It was all he could do to keep control of his bowels. Dumbledore's skin was sunken, his eyes nothing more than black holes. But he moved, lithe and springy, as if he were in his prime. But he wasn't in his prime, far from it.

For in that moment, Harry realised, with a jolt of shame at his own stupidity, that Dumbledore was _still dead_. Nothing could revive the deceased. But Tom Riddle had obviously found a way to _reanimate_ the old wizard...the only man he ever truly feared. And then Harry saw how he had done it.

For there, at his throat, a medallion hung. It was embossed with the coat of arms of Godric Gryffindor. And Tom Riddle's stinking, acidic, putrid essence was oozing out of every atom of the golden disc. Harry could think of no more fearsome defender for such a precious object. It was a stroke of genius.

And Harry's scar suddenly split open with the fiercest, most burning pain imaginable. He fell to a knee screaming, clutching at Hermione's battle dress for support. The pain was blinding, Harry's eye was streaming. He couldn't see, couldn't sort his mind to react. Panic set in, he was eleven years old again, weak and frightened and about to die at Tom Riddle's stolen hands. He knew it.

Then he knew something else. He felt a build-up of energy, a forewarning. Something so forceful Harry had no idea how he was supposed to stop something so irresistible. Luckily, he wasn't the only one there who was able to think.

"_Protego_!"

Hermione's Shield Charm was immense. It deflected Dumbledore's ferocious spell, but the strength of it still pushed them back several feet. Her voice woke Harry from his stunned torpor, her protective intent infusing him, her terror inspiring his imperative to defend her. The pain in his scar fell away to background burning. Cogency rushed back to his senses. But there was anther build up on the air, another spell was coming. Harry wasn't sure the Shield would hold this time.

"Go...I'll hold him off!" Harry cried.

"No, Harry! I'm not leaving you!"

"Please, Hermione, go!" Harry screeched, standing and gripping his wand. "Run, hide, get the others! Anything! Just go! I'll buy you some time..."

"Harry! I'm not..."

But whatever she might not have been, Harry didn't get to hear. Dumbledore's spell pieced the Shield Charm and hit them both. Hermione span away like a top and hit the floor ten yards away, while Harry roly-poly'd in a tangent direction. The sound of Hermione hitting the ground - a dull, lifeless thud - stirred feral rage in Harry's heart. He forcefully pushed it back along the connection Riddle's Horcrux was making with him, then flicked his wand at Dumbledore. The spell hit the walking corpse so hard he was flung back himself, and slammed into the amassed Death Eaters crowded behind.

Harry was on his feet. Battle form was coming to him. His mind was racing, but he had to remember one thing - he was fighting Riddle's Horcrux, not his old Headmaster. It didn't make the fight any easier, but if he could just focus on that...

But then a spear of magic hit him hard in the shoulder, splitting it in two. Harry cried out at the pain, watching in surreal disbelief as his left arm just hung there, limp and useless. And the pain was mind-numbing. He recovered just quickly enough to spring away from another power bolt from Dumbledore, who seemed unharmed from Harry's lone attack.

He saw Hermione, still strewn on the floor. She hadn't moved. Harry dodged another jet of light and reached Hermione's side, just in time to cast another Shield Charm. It held, but shattered seconds later. Harry wanted to flee, to Apparate them away. But he couldn't concentrate. He'd never make it.

"Lily!"

The phoenix arrived in an eruption of air and flame. It seemed to distract Dumbledore, who held his wand but didn't continue his assault.

"Get her out of here!"

Lily mewled in defiance.

"Don't argue!" Harry screamed angrily. "Go!"

Lily hopped to Harry and in one movement, dripped a tear to his broken shoulder, then spirited Hermione away in another flash of fire.

Harry felt the power of renewal flow through him. Lily had healed him, and Hermione was safe. Harry took up his wand again. He slashed it through the air, sending a spell into a rocketing collision with Dumbledore's own. The resulting explosion was like a clap of thunder that could have caused a rent in existence itself. Harry slashed and flicked again. A deep gouge opened up on Dumbledore's face, but he seemed unaffected by it, as though he felt no physical wound at all. Harry would have to change strategy.

But then, Dumbledore out-thought him. In wand movement faster that Harry could imagine possible, Dumbledore conjured a vat of water, doused it over Harry...and turned it to ice the moment it touched him. He was covered in a freezing cocoon, unable to move. His breath stuck in his lungs, his energy drained out of him. Dumbledore was pulling it by force. The battle had taken enough of it own, he didn't have much left to spare.

So he used what little he did have to push his very magic to the surface of his skin, hoping the heat would melt the ice. It did, but whatever this draining spell was that Dumbledore was using, it now no longer had the ice barrier to Harry's actual body. It hit him, hard. Squarely in the chest, smashing his ribs to pieces. He shrieked in mind-breaking agony. The spell was sucking the last breath from him, and some of his life, too.

Harry crumpled to the floor, weak and beaten, and felt the last of his energy get ripped out of him. Shock and fear had robbed him of the ability to think. He heaved his broken lungs for one good gulp of air, but the spell seemed to have hit him in his magic itself. He felt it _bleeding _out of him. The noise coming from the triumphant Death Eaters was chaotic terror in his ears. His sight was swimming...his wand a mile away. And where the fuck was Hermione...he prayed she could find somewhere safe...for he had failed to protect her again...

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The evil words...in that once friendly tone...and Harry prepared to face Death again, only permanently this time.

Then a flash of fire exploded in front of him.

Lily re-emerged and swallowed the jet of green light, falling helplessly to the floor. Then the air came alive. Two, five, ten, a hundred swirls of breezing Apparition. Harry couldn't tell. He looked up to see Neville and Enola, Angharad and Myfanwy dart forward and take up the fight to Dumbledore. Harry's heart soared as he saw them, ranged alongside one another for him, a line of ferocious defenders. But they weren't alone. Sir David, and Patrick and, Kelvin Angus, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Owain Jones, Cassie and Susan Bones and who knew how many others had arrived and their wands were firing off spell after spell, screaming and roaring and sending the Death Eaters scattering away in surprised panic.

And then, one more flash. And Hermione was at Harry's side. She cast a protective wall of magic around them that nothing could ever penetrate. It was just that powerful and even Harry, in his broken state, was in awe of it. Where had _that magic_ come from? How would he even describe it? He would have to ask her later. If there was a later. He was so tired. Maybe just a little nap...

"Open your eye!" Hermione commanded forcefully. "You are not dying on me today. That's an order!"

"Yes...my Queen..." Harry croaked out.

"Rhian!" Hermione cried. The little elf popped into view, took each of them by the hand and prepared to whisk them away.

"Hermione!" Harry breathed weakly. "Lily..."

Hermione reached over and gently scooped up up the phoenix, now a wrinkled little hatchling, mewling for firewhiskey. Then she nodded at Rhian, and all three of them were swept away in a whirl of air and colour.

* * *

Harry sat in front of the roaring fire, shivering to the very marrow of his tender bones. The healing had been excruciating, the recovery not much better. He was shivery, his breath rattled in his bruised lungs. He couldn't stop shaking, that was the most alarming thing. Even in those snatched moments where he held his mind steady, his body trembled and tingled, with no way, it seemed, to stop it.

Harry was terrifyingly afraid he'd _really_ broken something this time. Something properly inside, something that couldn't be fixed.

Hermione came up to him just then. She hadn't left his side in twenty-four hours. Hadn't slept, either. Her eyes were dark bags, her expression lined and pained. Worry was etched into every look she gave Harry, which was where her eyes were almost constantly fixed. She refused to let anyone take her watch, not even Neville, who was sat with them now, cradling his own injured arm in a Muggle-style sling. Harry needed care, and Hermione was the only one capable of giving it to him. Everyone else could just piss off.

She delicately placed another blanket around his haunched shoulders. He tensed at her touch, but it was through surprise rather than discomfort. His overwrought mind was miles away.

"You can touch me, Hermione," Harry offered reassuringly. "I'm fragile...but I trust you to be careful."

Hermione required no second invitation. She slipped an arm around Harry's neck and drew his shattered body to her own. She _needed_ this so badly. She had been restless not being able to touch him, to soothe him. She tensed her throat, held still the tears building behind her eyes. She had to feel Harry alive, breathing, moving despite his pain. She was mindless at how close she'd come to losing him for good. She couldn't keep the thought still in her head for any more than a few seconds. The grief it inspired was overwhelming.

But, equally, she couldn't let it go. Couldn't not face what had happened, what they'd seen. Harry didn't want to confront the reality, the visceral horror that had been unleashed upon them. Hermione wanted to let him rest. But she couldn't, not this time.

"What _was_ that, Harry?" she asked gently. "What are your thoughts?"

There was no need to qualify the nature of _that_ in the question. It was the only topic on all of their minds.

"Was it really him?_ Really_ _Dumbledore_? Did you feel it?"

Harry sighed heavily, his head bowing. Hermione smoothed his shoulders comfortingly. "It was him, and yet not. It was an abhorration, an abomination. And what I think he actually _was_ hardly bares thinking about...its a reality fundamentally terrifying."

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Neville.

"It _was_ Dumbledore," said Harry. "No question. Reanimated, a zombie, whatever you want to call it. I felt him. I know that presence, that power. But I also felt Riddle...in the Horcrux _and_ in Dumbledore. And those spells that hit me...they had such force, such immense potency, but also a dual signature. They were full of such malice, such dark rage. As if they'd cast them as one person. It got me thinking...I think Riddle has reanimated Dumbledore using his Horcrux, so its part of him. A truly scary part. For aside from being the Dumbledore we knew, with all his frightening power, its also the vision of Dumbledore from Riddle's mind...the only man he truly feared...somehow, made flesh. Super-powered...charged with all of Riddle's evil and cruelty and, more worryingly, his_ fear_. And under his complete control."

Hermione gasped. Neville swore, and curled his good first around the armrest of his chair.

"So pretty much unstoppable," said Neville, bitterly. "And if Dumbledore has Riddle's lost Horcrux around his neck..."

"Then its a new problem, but not necessarily an insurmountable one, is it Harry?" asked Hermione, more in hope than belief. She'd seen this nightmarish vision of Dumbledore in battle. She knew what it meant. It was horrifying.

Harry didn't look at her. Hermione had her answer in the way his already stunted breathing hitched and held in his lungs.

He took a while to consider his reply. "It was Dumbledore in body. That means he can still be stopped."

"But Harry," Neville cried vehemently. "You hit Dumbledore with spells, Ennie and I did too. They just seemed to bounce off, or not do enough damage to slow him down. He just kept coming. How do you stop something like that?"

"He still has a body," Harry repeated. "There are rules that come with that."

"Like, if you smash his legs, he wont be able to walk," said Hermione, thoughtfully.

"Precisely," said Harry. "Stopping his enhanced magic is the biggest issue. And that's going to require some serious thought...if my mind ever returns to my own control."

"And on the plus side, at least we know where the last Horcrux is," said Hermione. "Finding them was always a difficult problem."

"Getting this one from around the neck of an indestructible, ultra-powered-up, Inferi-Dumbledore is going to be a little more than a difficult problem, Hermione," said Neville glumly.

"I think there's more to that, too," said Harry, quietly. He didn't want to tell them this. Hermione could hear that in his cracked voice.

"What is it?"

"I could feel something about the energy of the Horcrux when it tried to connect to me," said Harry. "It felt like it was being fed power externally. It was like the Horcrux was the centre of a spiders-web, with other energy lines flowing to it, making it stronger. That's the best way I can describe it. One was definitely Riddle's, but there were others."

"How many others?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"At least four," said Harry. "But there could have been more. I didn't have much chance to focus on them. I was too busy getting my arse handed to me by Dumbledore."

Hermione tightened her hug on Harry. The vision of him, broken and defenceless on the ground as she rejoined him, Dumbledore moving menacingly close, was pounding at her temples. Seconds...she'd been seconds away from...suddenly, taking a month to admit she loved him might have been a lifetime by comparison. It was more than long enough...if it had been mere seconds from being separated from him forever. She just couldn't get control of her mind. She shook in terror at her own rampaging thoughts.

"What does that mean, Harry?" asked Neville.

"It means, brother, we have a long task ahead...if I'm right."

"You think they're providing some sort of protection," said Hermione, forcing calm into herself. "Four other people, or more, maybe with elite fake Horcruxes, defending the Master Horcrux somehow."

Harry looked at her ardently, reverently. "You know, sometimes your guesses are more reliable than my facts."

Hermione smiled shyly at him.

"So, four others are channelling power into Dumbledore and Riddle's lost Horcrux?" Neville summarised. "So its simple...we take out the other four, first. Them we can handle...if we can find out who they are."

"But they know we are coming, they will have redoubled any protection they have," Harry pointed out. "It looks like old Tom has finally learned from his mistakes. He's ultra cautious with this last piece of his evil fucking soul. I think Dumbledore is actually _part _of the Horcrux. They are one. Plus, there's an army aligned against us out there."

"Then, by Merlin, we tear them all down, one by one if necessary. And burn what's left," said Hermione firmly. "More pity them, I say. Fucking twats."

Harry just stared at her, disbelieving that she was prepared to stand beside him so fiercely. She couldn't have put a name to the look in his eye just then. It wasn't love. It was something so fundamentally more potent, more raw, it had no name. It took her breath away to have it fixed on her.

Luckily, the door opened then, breaking the throbbing energy Harry was pulsing Hermione's way. Unluckily, Enola came in, looking fitful. She had a nasty bruise on her cheek, and a slight limp. But she was chipper about that. The news she was carrying was an infinitely more terrible burden.

"Harry...you have to see this...you all do."

"What is it, love?" asked Neville.

Enola placed a laptop computer in front of them and pulled up a tab on the screen. "This is a live stream, from a site called _YouTube_," said Enola. "Its shows videos and things."

"I know what YouTube is," said Harry impatiently. "What are we watching?"

Enola looked at him darkly. "Its what we're _about_ to see that we need to worry about. This video stream is currently being broadcast on every screen in the country. Look."

Harry did. And Hermione felt his _soul_ drop. For there, on the screen, was a familiar face...in a very unfamiliar pose.

_"Elizabeth!"_ Harry breathed in utter astonishment. He was beyond terror and anger now. All Hermione could sense was numbness.

And she couldn't blame him.

For the Queen of England was in a bland, darkened room. On her knees. Her hands were tied behind her back, a heavy black blindfold over her eyes. And towering at her shoulder, looming over her, the flowing robes of Lord Voldemort hung and swayed like wispy thunder clouds. His snake-distorted face was contorted into a rabid smile, his slits for eyes, with their blood-red pupils, looked menacingly into the camera.

"People of Great Britain," Voldemort hissed. "This is your Queen, your champion, on her knees...defeated. She has been derelict in her duty, allowed corrupt Government to replace the rule of Kingly Law. And made our great nation weak and comical in the eyes of the world. In time honoured fashion I, Lord Voldemort, do claim the throne to the Realm of Britain, and all her territories, following victory in battle.

"I intend to be a strong and powerful leader. To make Britain truly Great again. A leader on the world stage. No longer will we play second fiddle to the crassness of America, the covertness of China, the subtle manipulation of the Germans. Britain will lead the world again...and I am the man who will put us back where we belong.

"And, to prove to you that I will be a just and respectful ruler, I offer your fallen monarch a chance at last words, to swear fealty to me, in return for a swift and painless death."

Hermione cried out, flinging her hands to her mouth. She looked at Harry. He was frozen, motionless, too wounded to even consider aid. But he looked white, his expression astonished and shocked. He couldn't move to do a single thing.

"I will swear fealty," said Elizabeth, her cracked voice betraying her own wounds. She had been hurt, tortured, who could guess what else. Hermione couldn't even begin to point her thoughts at that.

"Ah, a sensible decision," said Voldemort, turning the camera to her theatrically.

"I swear fealty..." Elizabeth croaked. "To the king...to the Once and Future King! Lord Harry Potter! May his vengeance on you, Lord Voldemort, be swift and violent."

Voldemort turned his furious face back to the Elizabeth. Then slashed his wand angrily.

And slit the Queen of England's throat.


	9. A Queen Rises

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The palace was in state of total chaos. And for the first time since she'd been here, Hermione felt genuinely afraid.

Not for herself, she was too mindless with the anarchy around her to harbour that sort of fear. But she was afraid for everyone, and everything, else. It wasn't just the walls, shaking as if in the throes of an earthquake, or the shattered glass littering the rooms and the halls. It was the irrepressible, rampant magic that was surging and heaving all around them, knocking them to the ground, disintegrating furniture and sending random sparks shooting out from the very air and cracking the brickwork itself.

Such was the vicious fury of Harry Potter in complete meltdown.

He was an unstoppable force. Uncontrolled, unhinged and impossible to reign in. And everyone was trying. From Hermione and Enola right through to the house-elves. But Harry was impervious to capture. He would Apparate as soon as anyone got near, or cast blinding hexes or conjure heavy, dark clouds to obscure himself. He was totally wild, his mind exerting literally zero control over his raging senses.

And Hermione was almost equally as frantic. She raced around in pursuit of him, trying to repair the suits of armour he was melting, or the antique china sets that were fractured in his wake. She watched him change into his fierce Animagus lion form and tear things to shreds with his razor-sharp claws. Luckily it was just tapestries and furniture rather than living flesh. Hermione was afraid to get too close; Harry was out of his mind. She wasn't sure he would still even to _her_, would even recognise that she wasn't something to be torn, to be destroyed. He changed, then changed back, then partially transformed so he merely had a shaggy golden mane and long, sharp incisors.

And all the while he roared and growled so deep and base that it made Hermione's skin prickle with anxiety.

But her worry was for him. She knew, deep down, that Harry wouldn't hurt her. She could still sense that from him, as if he knew she that was following his trail but was permitting her to keep an eye on him, to protect the others from his searing rage. How she might manage to do that was something she couldn't fathom. The darkly-charged magical current spewing from Harry was so raw and intense that Hermione had no idea how she was supposed to contain it.

In any case, she had to _find_ him first. He'd been out of her sight for a good five minutes now. She could follow him to his last spot easily enough. He left behind vortexes of whirlwinding energy that Hermione could feel from the other side of the palace, as if she were a barometer for the spikes in Harry's atrocious mood. But he was always just gone by the time she arrived. So she'd taken to randomly racing down corridors, desperately seeking Harry in rooms as she passed, hoping to luck out and get ahead of him.

But she was growing more frenzied with each failed attempt. Harry was darting about seemingly at random, with no plan, getting more and more furious as the events of the evening pressed tighter in on him. The levels of destruction he left behind were the primary indicator of _that_. And with each miss of Harry, Hermione grew a little more anxious. Every sinew of her being screamed at her to find him. But he was like a sprite, and his dark mischief was devastating their house.

Hermione felt a shot of possessive anger for that. Harry was wrecking _their_ beautiful palace, their future home. The place their kids would one day run and play, when they delivered the world for them. If Harry didn't leave them anything but a pile of rubble. The air shifted a little at that, eased slightly. Hermione was hit was a bolt of thought - had Harry _felt _that? Had her own surge of emotion affected him, as though the house was beginning to respond to her intent, too? Or was it the concept of their _joint _ownership that had triggered the brief change?

Hermione didn't have much chance to dwell on it, as just then she rounded a corner and walked straight into Neville, who was rushing the other way.

"Oof!" Neville groaned as they collided. "Watch where you're…oh, hello, Hermione. Any luck?"

"None. You?" Hermione replied, rubbing her head where it had impacted against Neville's shoulder.

"No, Harry's too good at this game." said Neville. "He's always better than us at it."

Hermione started. "Has this happened before?"

"Once or twice," said Neville evasively. The house rumbled as Hermione's frantic worry for Harry deepened. Dust fell from the plaster ceiling above them. Was that _her _making this happen…or him? Hermione needed to calm her thoughts to work it out. Neville eyed the ceiling curiously. "This isn't the worst its been."

"When was that then?" asked Hermione. "Don't tell me…the night with Malfoy. Enola told me it was bad. But I had no idea, really."

"No, no, the night with Malfoy was different," said Neville. "Harry was enraged because of the immediacy of the danger you were in. It spurred him to action without him really thinking about it. The palace was so focused that night I thought Harry could have turned the air itself into a spear. No, the worst night was when he learned that Ron was battering you. I actually thought he was going to kill himself in his rage. He nearly did."

Hermione gasped in horror. "How?"

"Well, have you noticed the three round towers at the corners of the old castle walls?" Neville queried. Hermione nodded, grimly. She rather fancied she knew where this was going and didn't like it one bit. "We used to have four. Harry ruptured the foundations of the other one…while he was still inside it."

"Sweet Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed, cupping her cheeks in despair.

"He was trying to manipulate the lay line that ran under that tower," said Neville, almost wistfully. "He reckoned he could channel his anger through it, make it so hot that Ron would be roasted alive on the spot, if Harry could redirect the line to him. It might have worked as well. But the line grew so white hot that the tower foundations melted and the stone work cracked. Harry was buried underneath the debris. It took ten of the house-elves three hours working in tandem to free him."

"How in the hell did he survive _that_?"

"Both his legs were crushed, and he took a tasty whack to the head, which sent an impact fracture down his spine," said Neville, wincing at the memory. "But the roof of the room he was in cracked in half under the intensity of his magic. It formed a sort of dome over him, which absorbed most of the impact. Harry was trapped in a pocket but his legs were smashed. It took a month of healing before he could even leave his bed."

Hermione was horrified at the tale. But the suggestion of Harry's own potential for self-harm cut to her on a far more deeper level. Her heart began to speed, racing faster than her legs had done in any part of her hunt for Harry that night.

"Nev - how bad _could_ it get?" Hermione asked tentatively. "I mean…worst case?"

"Worst case is Harry exhausting his base of magic," said Neville gravely. "If that happens, the magic in his blood will essentially evaporate, smashing his body to pieces as it leaves it. There'd be no way to heal him from that."

"Oh fucking hell!" Hermione cried. "We have to find him Nev! We have to stop him!"

Hermione was beside herself. She tried to run, desperate to pick up the chase, but she didn't know which way to go. She stopped, turned, stumbled into Neville just as hot tears spilt from her eyes. She'd never felt so helpless against what she saw as an inevitable outcome before. Not even during her enslavement under Ron's iron boot.

"Hermione! Calm down!" said Neville, vehemently. "You wont help Harry this way."

"Well I'm not helping him much fucking standing here with you am I! We have to _do_ something!"

"Look, I've got Angharad, Cassie and Enola's mum watching the potions stores - there are things there that Harry could _explode _in his current state. Rhian, I've sent to the mausoleum -"

"Good thinking. He'll go mental if he breaks his mum's headstone in a rage."

"My reason exactly. Myfanwy is in the armoury, guarding all the weapons. Including the experimental Magic-Tech ones we've been working on."

"Magic-Tech weapons?" Hermione quirked.

"Another time," said Neville, dismissively. "Myfanwy is the best one for that job. She might not look it, but she's badder than sin. Probably the best chance against Harry in a one-to-one duel out of all of us. Apart from you, obviously, who he'd never raise his wand against."

Hermione flushed shyly and the air soothed a little more. Neville didn't seem to notice, or if he did he ignored it. Hermione rather thought that these subtle changes were only perceptible to her…or maybe _Harry and her_…as if another form of silent, secret communication between them. She smiled at the idea, as Neville continued his speech.

"...and some of Inner Circle are scattered around the grounds, hoping to catch Harry in a lucky moment."

"And Enola's standing guard over Alison, I imagine?"

"Oh Merlin no," said Neville. "Harry created a special defence ward over the nursery after his last outburst. It throws up a shield that is always more powerful than his emotion…as its fuelled by it. The angrier he gets, the more powerful the ward. Clever bit of magic, that. Alison is the safest person in this whole place."

"Then where is Ennie?" asked Hermione.

"She's working on a trap," said Neville simply.

"What do you mean _a trap?" _asked Hermione, her tone dangerous and suspicious.

"The best chance we have of saving Harry is to get him in to the ritual room," said Neville. "The place is designed to absorb and channel his magic. It will keep him magically renewed. Then we can just wait until he physically exhausts himself."

"But there's still the chance he can hurt himself, isn't there?"

"He probably already has," said Neville. "You just have to accept that. Physical wounds can heal. I know it hurts _you_ to think of Harry injured - but, trust me, its better than the alternative."

Hermione huffed. "Okay. So, how can we lure Harry to the ritual chamber."

Neville looked sheepishly. "There is a way…but you wont like it. Though it might be the only thing powerful enough to focus Harry's rampaging emotions."

"I'll do whatever I have to if it will help him," said Hermione staunchly. "I'm not afraid."

"You will be. I'm sure of that."

Hermione paled at Neville's expression, her pulse hammering resistance in her neck. There was only one thing that would make Neville look at her in such a pitying way…but she couldn't work out how _he _would be involved…

"W-what do you want to do with me?" Hermione said, instantly ashamed of her stutter.

The air heaved, thick and potent, and magic lashed out, almost as if to prevent Neville posing the plan. Hermione knew that it was Harry's protective instinct stirring to her defence. She felt the signature of it prickle across her skin as it flowed around her. Neville cast a Shield Charm deftly to divert the strike, and darted back to avoid the bolt of searing energy, which smashed a hole through the wall he'd been leaning against. Hermione had gone very cold all of a sudden. If Harry was subconsciously trying to protect her, from whatever Neville and Enola were scheming, then she was sure it couldn't bode well for her.

"There may be a way," said Neville, cocking a curious eye at the crumbling brickwork of the new hole to his left. "But we have to place you in peril. It wont be physical…but it might be more difficult to deal with as a result."

""You want to place me in danger? But I wont get hurt by it? That doesn't seem so bad…"

"You don't understand, Hermione," said Neville. "We will have to expose you to some of your greatest fears. Make Harry feel them, and come to rescue you."

"Without me physically leaving the house?" asked Hermione.

"This plan is more cerebral than physical. We have to open your _mind_ to danger."

Hermione stared blankly. "And how will you do that?"

Neville took a deep breath. "My Ennie has detected all sorts of historical charms and curses on you. Harry has noticed them, too, when he's tried to heal you. They cant break the connection you have to their creator, or his ability to infiltrate your mind. Harry was devising some sort of plan to use it against him, but right now _our plan_ is to expose you to it. Draw him to _you_."

Hermione gasped and felt a black weight fall into her abdomen. "Y-you want to…to _draw Ron_…to me?" Her words stumbled over her trembling lips. "For him to do what?"

"Whatever he wants," said Neville. "Whatever will be strong enough to summon Harry to your defence. I said you wouldn't like it."

"No, I fucking don't like it!" Hermione cried, her eyes wide and startled as the notion clenched in her chest. "There…isn't any other way?"

"You've been hunting for Harry for the best part of an hour with no success," said Neville. "We don't have the time to wait for him to calm enough to do the right thing. He's just a bundle of anger shooting around and breaking things right now. We have to do something drastic…before he breaks himself."

Hermione quaked at the idea, the image swimming before her eyes. It was doing battle with the equally harrowing thought of letting Ron into her psyche, exposing herself to him. It made her feel sick to her stomach. Her knees buckled and she had to grab Neville for support.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" he asked, hauling her up. "Is it really that bad a suggestion?"

Hermione shook in Neville's arms. "I don't think you truly understand. You're asking me to willingly face a demon who haunts my dreams. And saying that if I don't, the man I love, with every atom of my being, might die. Its like offering me cancer, but promising me ebola if I don't agree."

Neville clenched his jaw angrily. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't suppose I've really thought how badly you still suffer. You seem loads better since Harry rescued you…and the change you've wrought in _him…_I forget that you went through hell to get here. I wont ask you to do this, we'll find another way. Fucking Weasley. I hope Harry lets me watch when you rip him apart. Come on, let's think of an alternative."

Hermione scoffed. "There isn't one, is there? You know I'm going to do this. Whatever the cost. Its _Harry, _for fucks sake_. _The only thing I _wouldn't_ do is die for him. I mean, what would be the point? I want to _enjoy_ him. It's just…facing Ron…it's terrifying for me."

The walls vibrated again at that. Neville ducked on instinct, but Harry's magic merely throbbed around Hermione. It felt gentler, as if trying to dissuade her. But there was something needy there, too. It was an element of Harry Hermione had felt before - that part that desperately needed and wanted help, but could never lower itself to ask for it. It was the part she always imagined herself hugging when she embraced him, that deep part, so wounded it had to be sought out to comfort. It was the part that Hermione knew, if she ever managed to heal it, would make Harry properly righted. It spoke to her now.

And the sensation steeled her. If this was what it took, then Hermione would woman-up and face it like a Queen. Harry needed her. That was all there was to it. And if Harry, so fierce and powerful, needed _her,_ then his situation must be truly dire. Harry didn't need help…he was the one who _gave_ help. But now he _did_ need, and Hermione was the only one capable of providing it. Her heart hummed at that, dispelled the fear she had been consumed with. Harry truly needed her, and she was able to step up and meet the challenge. To be there for him in a way that no other woman could be.

And her whole body pulsed with such love for Harry in that instant, that the entire house was diverted from its chaos for a moment. It surrendered to the dominance of her intent. Hermione knew then that Neville was right. Harry was attuned intently to her…he would come if she needed him. But that couldn't be faked. She had to do this…she had to place herself in harms way…if only to focus Harry's fury on her enemies instead of the world in general.

"I'm ready," she said to Neville. "Tell me what to do."

"Take my hand," said Neville.

Hermione complied and Neville whisked them to the ritual chamber. Enola was already inside. She was moving between all the carved runes and engraved alchemical symbols…setting them alight with her whitewood wand. The whole place was surging and billowing with magic. It was smothering, but ridiculously alluring at the same time. There was such _sexuality_ intrinsic to this form of magic…Hermione decided she would have to read up on this later, to understand this deeply physical element to runic casting. After all, Harry hadn't shown her this fantastic library he'd built for her yet…

Oh…to make love to Harry in a _library_…Hermione lost her breath at the idea. Her knees collapsed under her again.

"Minny! Are you okay?"

Enola rushed over and helped Hermione, who had fallen into Neville, back to her feet. Hermione flushed as the erotic images swarmed through her mind. It was so inappropriate…and so badly timed. Then she huffed…._Harry!_ He was doing this! On purpose! But of course - he was primal just now, feral…and sexual because of it.

And suddenly Hermione understood. She knew exactly where this sexual element had come from…and it wasn't Harry. She knew what she needed to do.

"Get out," she commanded darkly to Enola and Neville.

"What?" quirked Neville, concerned.

"Just leave," said Hermione. "I…I know what I have to do. Just be ready to get me out when its time. Oh…and have a robe on hand…I'll need one."

Enola went a sickly shade of grey. "Min…I…"

"Just go, while we still have time," said Hermione, her voice like chilled iron. She brushed off Enola as she tried to hug her.

Then she was left quite alone.

Hermione relaxed her mind. In fact, it was already bizarrely calm. And it wasn't just the realisation of what she had to do that had made her this way. It was the understanding that this was part of her conditioning. It was the way her mind and body were used to being…when this time of the month rolled around. And its what made her instantly able to tap into the powers of the chamber, to find what she was looking for.

For Harry had long since configured it to torture Ron Weasley when the time was right. There was an entire runic scripture here dedicated to his hated memory. It made him easy to find amidst the other swirling forces of the circular room. Hermione simply let her guard down next to those pulsing with the most vitriolic emotion…and he came right to her, like a moth to a flame.

"Hello…loving wife."

Hermione froze. No matter how much she'd tried to prepare herself, no matter how often she'd done this in person, to expose her mind to his was far more horrendous than anything she'd imagined. At once, she felt the level of his dominance over her. It was focused and pointed, now that it was all he had left. Harry had liberated her _physically, _but Ron's dark magic still held her on so many levels. She gasped as she felt each one, like an ice-cold knife stabbing at each point as it moved through her. There were so _many!_ Hermione was astonished as she realised just how deep under Ron's magical heel she'd really been. She wondered if Harry knew.

And the runes flared…angry, blood red and fierce gold. She had her answer. And there was something else, too. Something that stirred fierce, protective love all around her like a shield. It made her very body throb with hopeful energy.

Because _He_ _knew_…on some level…Harry knew Ron was here. And it created waves of magic so potently charged that Hermione's fears were wiped away.

She was empowered by the emotion. It felt like Harry had been winded, taken by surprise…and, when he recovered, his response would be so ridiculously intense that Ron would be retarded to stay here. It gave Hermione courage. She _could_ do this…face Ron…and heal Harry in the same, weird situation. Time to be a Queen…

"Fuck you…_husband_."

Hermione's ire spilled out of her. It was as if Harry's anger was infusing her. She willed more of it into herself. But then Ron spoke. And his mere voice was enough to break her.

"I've been waiting for you," Ron said icily. "You know its that time…where you open your legs for me…you don't want me to open them _for you_ again, do you…you know what happens when you defy me…"

"I'm not afraid of you, Ron."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh..but you are. And with good reason. You _belong _to me. I can do what I want with you. You are mine."

"No part of me is yours," said Hermione doughtily. She stepped back and clutched against the altar at the centre of the raised dais. Harry's presence felt strongest there. It renewed Hermione's courage.

Ron scudded with laughter again. "Oh…my dearest Hermione. You are _all _mine. You may give Harry your body, your perky ass…maybe even your heart. But your _soul_ is mine!"

Ron said the words with such fierce sincerity that Hermione stepped back from his image.

"Even in this place…wherever it is….you are under my command," said Ron icily. "Kneel!"

And Hermione did. She wasn't sure if it was the familiar order, or an involuntary reflex. Either way, Hermione went to her knees, trembling with the fear of what she knew usually followed this stance. She chided herself for her weakness. Some equal of Harry's she was proving to be!

"Now…how do we normally do this," said Ron icily, stalking forwards. He might as well have been there in the flesh. Where had he learned such dark magic, and where had he been hiding it? Hermione felt utterly stupid for not paying more attention to the changes in him. His rancid intent was so clear now. Had she been so afraid of the abuses that she hadn't seen the bigger picture? She rather thought she might have.

And her fear sped through her like a lance. Ron might actually be able to do her _real_ damage here. And she was just getting used to a life without pain. She ground her jaw.

She wasn't going to give in that easily.

Hermione screwed up her emotions, her fears, her hatred, her love for Harry…and she stood up strongly, facing Ron as he reached her. He looked totally startled as their eyes met, seemingly unable to process how she'd broken through his spell. Hermione was primed now, she glared at Ron, rabid anger in every line of her face. He stumbled back from her.

"How _do_ we do this?" Hermione fumed. "How do you _rape_ me, Ron? You did it so many times. With that _tiny dick_ of yours. I barely felt it…it was easy to forget…"

Ron flushed, his own anger flaring. He slashed his wand and Hermione's clothes were sliced off. They fell to the floor. But Hermione was unmoved. She advanced on Ron. But he was recovered from his shock now, and dark fury was spreading through him. Hermione could almost _see it_…as if it were an oil slick coursing over his essence. It made Hermione hesitate.

And Ron struck.

It wasn't a spell as much as another mental command. And Hermione was slammed back against the ritual altar, knocking the wind and sense from her. She was dizzied by the impact. She felt her legs thrust open by an unseen force and Ron was suddenly next to her, unbuckling his robe…

Then the room thundered and shook violently, as if hit by a sonic boom.

"What was that? Did you do it?!" Ron yelled, reeling away as if struck by a fierce blow. He slashed his hand out. Hermione felt the contact as if on her cheek…but on an emotional level. It knocked her over the altar and flat onto her back. But she looked up, almost maniacally at Ron. She tasted blood in her mouth…or was it something else. She couldn't be sure. Either way, she smirked darkly at Ron.

"_He _knows…" she said dangerously. "Harry knows what you're trying to do to me. And he's coming for you. You fucking idiot!"

"Like I'm afraid of _him,_" Ron cried angrily. "I have _you_! Do you think our wedding was words alone? Are you so spasticated that you think our dear Lord Voldemort merely blessed me with the Dark Mark? He gave me his personal promise of protection…and dominion over you. You are _mine! _Harry Potter's greatest weakness is under _my_ complete control!_"_

Then Ron drew his wand and slashed it aggressively through the air. For a moment, Hermione just laughed at him. Then something changed. It was as if Hermione's skin had caught fire. She shrieked in utter agony, swatting helplessly at flesh that was searing hot…but seemed unchanged. It was as if Ron was burning her emotionally, casting her very soul onto his evil pyre. Hermione curled up on the cold floor, naked, pitiful and desperate…and now Ron was the one that was laughing, bellyful and joyous.

"Harry! _Help me_!" Hermione moaned lowly.

And the air around her_ literally_ exploded.

For Harry Potter had finally arrived to defend his Queen. And his rage was unlike anything Hermione had ever felt. He might as well have brought Hell itself with him to the fight.

It was if the swirling winds of magical energy suddenly shattered. Jagged fragments of intense power erupted from an unseen focal point. Ron, in whatever form he was before them, was thrown violently across the ritual chamber. In the same moment, a Shield Wall encased Hermione in a dense, impenetrable cocoon. She couldn't even see through it. Harry was there, she could feel that of a sort, but his physical body was in a state of flux. He was the embodiment of fury itself. He took hold of Ron's spirit in powerful, ephemeral jaws and slammed it repeatedly into the walls and floors like a blood-lusted lion devastating its prey, till Ron bled a sort of silvery plasma. He whimpered and screeched in unspeakably, high-pitched agony.

But it only served to stir Harry's rage into yet more frenetic states. Then Ron spoke.

"_Morsmordre!"_

Hermione cried out as Harry's impermeable delirium threatened even _her_, licking dangerously at her skin. He was utterly steeled, ready to face the entire Death Eater clan, Tom Riddle and the abomination of Dumbledore if they showed up. But Hermione was wild with fear for him, and trapped inside this bloody shield charm!. Then there was a _pop._

"Lady Hermione will come now! Take Sally's hand! Take it now!"

Hermione had never heard her elf afraid before. It was so child-like, so utterly terrified that it cut to Hermione, as if a request for help from innocence itself. She gave to it without resistance. She grasped Sally's soft, scaly palm in her own and allowed herself to be whisked away.

And then she instantly regretted it.

For outside the chamber it was indescribably worse, by a measure of degrees. For Harry was _at war_ inside…and drawing all energies of the palace to his banner. It was like being in a tsunami of potential energy, rushing to its Master's aid like a gale-force wind that whipped all around them. And Hermione was utterly powerless to help him. She heard his plea, felt his summons for assistance against Ron and the powers of Voldemort…but she was unable to render even the most basic of aid.

She darted forwards, making for the door. Neville stepped across her.

"Hermione! Stand back! Harry's safe now!"

"Like fuck he is!" Hermione cried. "He's fighting _Ron_ in there! And Voldemort wont be far behind! Let me in!"

"I cant do that," said Neville firmly. "Step away!"

"Fuck you, Neville! I'm not leaving Harry alone in there!"

"Min!" Enola yelled. "Nev's right. Harry will be…"

But Enola didn't get to finish her sentence. For Hermione, in her incessant rage, spat right in her mouth. Enola retched away to her right.

"Hermione! You need to control yourself. Harry can handle it!"

Hermione saw red. And red in this instance equalled Neville Longbottom.

_"Stupefy!"_

Neville was taken so surprised by Hermione's quick draw that he couldn't respond. The truth was, though, that Hermione's spell was so intense that Neville's best blocking spell would have trembled against it. As it was, Neville was smashed against the door of the ritual chamber and knocked out cold.

Hermione, sensing her chance, darted forwards. But then a spell of such unrepentant force hit her that she was left breathless by its power. She turned her eyes, wide and startled, to see Enola, infused with utter fury, with her wand drawn against her. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Hermione truly appreciated, with a startling tremble of respectful fear, the raw ferocity of Enola Longbottom's magical ability.

Then Enola's eyes softened with sad regret. "I'm sorry, Min…but I have to, for all our goods…_subicite!"_

There was a flash of silvery-white magic. And Hermione was completely, and wholly, subdued.

* * *

Enola watched carefully, marking each surge in Hermione's energy like a big band conductor. She even had her own baton of a sort. In this case it was her whitewood wand, visceral and throbbing with her magical power. And with each rise of Hermione's emotion, Enola would carefully and deliberately cast counter-spells and protection runes, pushing them into her before resuming the vigil.

For her new friend was under sustained assault. And Enola was determined to protect her.

The exposure of her mind was always a risk, and until Hermione could replace her own mental shields, she was vulnerable. And as Enola felt responsible for making her defenceless, both in proposing the plan and having to magically sedate her later, she felt duty bound to fight Hermione's battles for her. So with each attempt at incursion, Enola would cast another barrier, put in another block. It was working so far, but she had to hand it to that fucktard Weasley…he was a persistent little shit.

For they'd been at this duel for sixteen hours straight.

Enola was hardly surprised. There was just something about his magical intent, a sort of wounded desperation. He had shown his weakness, his wizarding limitations as Hermione had overpowered his magical control over her. Even if it was only for an instant. Poor Min! She was so afraid of that joke she had to call a husband. That wasn't surprising either, considering what he'd put her through. Enola fancied that Hermione hadn't really dealt properly with that yet. That when the anger subsided the real horror would hit her. Hard.

But at least she'd have Harry to heal and soothe her. That made Enola unspeakably happy. To see Harry laugh and joke and smile…it was something else. And the poor, wounded girl under her care was responsible for all of it. That was reason enough in itself to help her. So Enola was fiercely determined in her personal fight with Ron Weasley. If he wanted Hermione, he'd have to get through _her_ first.

And Enola Longbottom wasn't about to be bested by a lazy, talentless bigot like Ronald Weasley.

Hermione shifted and jerked again as Ron made another move. He was so blindly resolute to make amends for his failings…Enola was half-wondering if Tom Riddle was stood over his minion, demanding he keep attacking until he broke through. That solidified Enola's own resolve, as she hoped Weasley was being punished for each failed attempt. It felt like a victory with each successful repel of his invasive magic. So she drew out another powerful defensive rune, pushed it into the path of Ron's spell, and fist pumped as it was deflected away. She closed her eyes…and imagined Ron's agonised cry as Riddle whipped a curse across him.

This was childs-play. Enola was genuinely astonished that Weasley had managed any sort of control over Hermione. His magic was so mid-level powered…at best. And Min was so _potent_. The situation was all sorts of backwards in Enola's mind. The amount of sly, underhand curses Weasley must have used on her...when she slept, or when she was broken and fragile after a beating…it made Enola's blood boil with searing anger.

For Hermione was stupendously powerful. Enola knew that now. She'd not appreciated truly how much. Of how close to Harry's equal she actually was. In truth, Enola was a little bit wary of what Hermione would be like when she woke up. She'd had to reach deep into the recesses of her magical strength to subdue Hermione and hold her there. She'd never driven that deep into herself before. It had shocked her, and she was still a little trembly as a result. If Hermione was angry when she woke…Enola might be in real danger.

After all, she'd dislocated Neville's shoulder and snapped his wrist with her manic attempt to get to Harry's aid.

So Enola knew she had to be careful. Hermione whimpered again and Enola threw up another barrier in her mind. She dabbed a cool flannel at Hermione's forehead, hot with roiling sweat, and whispered comfortingly to her. She wondered how long this would go on for. And she wasn't the only one.

"You need to take a rest. Let me take over."

Enola turned to see Neville in the doorway. Both arms were in bandages now.

"How long have you been watching?" Enola quirked.

"Long enough to know you need a break," said Neville, taking a seat on the opposite side of Hermione's bed. "You're exhausted."

"I'm not leaving her," said Enola. "She needs help. He makes her too weak to face him alone."

"Then let me -"

"No!" Enola hissed. "I've already crossed a boundary as it is. You aren't going near her mind. If I could just pull her Occlumency shields back up…it might be enough."

"Then why don't you do it?" asked Neville.

"Because its an uninvited invasion!" Enola cried hotly. "You don't just enter someone's mind without permission. And she's probably pissed enough with me as it is!"

"Yeah, probably," said Neville. "You made yourself a barrier to helping Harry. I'm living proof of what happens to people like that!"

He held up his bandaged hands.

Enola scoffed. "You're not helping. Besides, you're just being a pussy. Skele-Gro and a quick healing ritual will have sorted you out. You're just being a baby. Or fishing for sympathy, which you won't get from me."

Neville feigned hurt. "What a wife you are! I'll have you know I'm very damaged over here."

"Only in terms of your pride," said Enola, smirking. "Bested by an untrained witch! Harry's second-in-command my arse!"

"But _what_ an arse!" Neville quipped. Enola rolled her eyes at him. "But, you're right, I am in charge while Harry recovers. That's what I came to say. Me and my dad are going to head out tonight. Do a bit of recon."

"No you fucking aren't!" Enola cried, deathly serious. "Its too dangerous out there."

"Which isn't going to change unless we do something about it," said Neville firmly. "This isn't up for debate. We're going."

Enola frowned. "Just don't do anything reckless. And take your Invisibility Cloaks. And take Fan and Ann…and…and…"

Enola hiccuped with the fear settling on her. Neville rounded the bed and scooped her up into a powerful hug. She melted into his embrace. He made her feel _so_ safe, like everything would be alright…even if it wouldn't. And he was always so brave. It made her so hot for him.

"I wish we had time for a quickie," she breathed into his chest. "I miss feeling you inside me."

Neville tensed up. Enola bit her lip…it was the wrong thing to say. She apologised lowly.

"Dont be sorry…I'll deal with _that_ problem.," said Neville. "But this comes first, pardon the pun. Take care of Hermione. I'll be back."

"When? Today?"

"No promises," said Neville. "I'll be back when I find what I need. You know the score. I'll be safe."

And he kissed her deeply. Then turned and swept out of the room. Enola brushed at her wet cheeks, then turned back to Hermione, who jerked and writhed, and called out in anguished despair.

_Poor Min_! She'd abandoned her. And Ron had broken in! Enola considered breaking into Hermione's mind for a face-off, but rejected the idea immediately. There was only one thing to do…wake her and face the consequences.

_"Rennervate!_"

Enola's spell settled firmly on Hermione and she shot awake, with an abrupt shock. She drew quick, rattling breaths, before scrambling up the bed and cowering in the foetal position, as if bracing to be hit. Enola's heart broke at the sight and she hurried to her side, hushing her and gently smoothing her shoulders.

"Ssshhh, Hermione…hush now…you're safe…I'm here, I'm here…"

Hermione peeked through a gap in her arms with unfocused, terrified eyes. Her breathing stilled slightly.

"Ennie…is that…is it _you"_

"Its me, calm down…you're safe now…sshhh there…"

"Where am I?" Hermione asked groggily. "Where's Ro…where's _Harry_! Ennie…Voldemort's coming, I can feel it!"

"It was just a nightmare, Min," said Enola softly as Hermione tried to get up. "Harry's quite safe. He's exhausted and resting, but he'll be fine."

"And Riddle? And Ron?"

"Harry banished them," said Enola. "They're no wiser to where we are. Ron's been trying to break into your mind. That nightmare was his doing."

"I…I can sort of remember," said Hermione, her tense shoulders finally sagging. "But you…I've _felt_ you close by. What have you been doing to me?"

Enola bristled nervously. "Sorry, Min, don't be cross…but I had to enter your mind. Only on a surface level. To help defend you from Ron's attacks."

Hermione sat up fully and pierced Enola with a curious stare. "You've been protecting me. Why?"

"Ron's being trying to use the mental connection he has to you to break your mind," Enola explained. "He frightens you so much…I know now…you couldn't face him alone. Oh _Min…_if I'd known how bad it was I'd never have suggested to Nev that we use you in ritual. Please forgive me."

"That was your idea?"

Enola nodded sheepishly. She couldn't read Hermione just now.

Then she smiled at her. "Should have known only a warrior woman could come up with something like that. Something that gave zero fucks as long as the end was worth it. But what happened with Harry?"

Enola looked startled. "You aren't mad at me?"

"Is Harry okay? Are we safe?"

"Yes and yes."

"Then there's nothing to forgive," said Hermione. "I was wild to help Harry…but you stopped me from opening the chamber. What would have happened if I did?"

"It could have let those dark forces into the palace," said Enola. "It could have given away our location. I had to think of my daughter, of all of us. Plus, they were fighting Harry in his _personal_ ritual space. That was singularly fucking dumb of them. Its the one point on the planet that Harry Potter wields the power of a fucking_ god_."

"And its where Harry's going to kill Riddle in the end," said Hermione nodding in understanding. "And where we are going to go stone-age on Ron Weasley. I felt _everything_ in that chamber, Ennie. It was amazing. Have you ever felt that?"

"No," said Enola. "Its something Harry restricts from everyone. Well, except you it would seem. What was it like?"

"I, literally, don't have the vocabulary," said Hermione breathily, hitching her knees to her chest.. "It was a sort of deep, intimate intensity I never knew existed. As though every particle of Harry was a charged, energetic form that I could reach out and touch if I wanted to. And I _so_ wanted to. It was electrifying, even when I was scared. Sex in there will bring the walls down! Just saying."

Enola hooted with laughter. "Oh Min! I love you, you know? I'm sorry I had to spell you. But you were a little wildcat!"

Hermione chuckled. "I barely remember it, to be honest. I'm sorry I spat at you. That was disgusting. You did what you had to. Its good that you could. I would hate to be so out of control that I was a threat. Harry scared me a little in the way he was. I'm happy for you to be able to subdue me."

"I barely could," Enola admitted. "You are frighteningly powerful. I could barely contain you."

"But you did," said Hermione, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "And if you need to again, just do it."

"I don't think I'll be able to for long," said Enola. "I don't think you've fully recovered your strengths. Its not been two months since you arrived here. Give it a few more and only Harry will be able to exert any control over you. And you will be a match even for him."

Hermione blushed. "I'm _already_ a match for him. In every way."

Enola chortled at that. "Yes you are. It amazes me that Weasley was able to keep you so downtrodden, given how powerful you are."

"Trust me, I've been thinking the same thing," said Hermione. "I just lost hope. I could have freed myself from Ron at any time. But where would I have gone? I often thought it would have been better to just be dead, and considered taking it into my own hands on more than on occasion."

"_Oh Min!_ You poor thing!" Enola gasped. "You've had such a wretched time of things, haven't you? Harry will make it all better. He'll have to answer to me if he doesn't!"

Hermione grinned a moment, then her expression became stern and serious. "How is he? Can I see him?"

"He's wiped out, but he'll be okay," said Enola. "We had to sedate him, but he'll recover. Though I think its best, for now, that you stay away from him."

Hermione frowned. "Why? What's wrong with me?"

"It's not what's _wrong_ with you," said Enola, shaking her head exasperatedly. "Its what's _right_. Harry has forged a deep connection to you. He always had it, but it was singularly one-side. Now, since he's learned you return all his feelings as powerfully as you do, its intensified beyond anything either of us could have conceived. The connection is coming from you now, too. Its beautiful in every other circumstance, but dangerous to Harry right now."

"How so?" Hermione asked, flushing crimson.

"Harry's magic has been stretched to breaking point," Enola explained. "He needs all he has left to stay stable, as well as to start his recovery. But when he's anywhere near you, his magic reaches out for you. It seeks you, wants to join with you. He's too weak to risk sparing any to make that link just now, but he can't consciously control it in his current state."

"So, when I'm near him, I'm _taking _magic from him? Or diluting his reserves? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Exactly," said Enola. "And restricting his powers of recovery. When he's stronger, being around you will probably _help_ him. But for now, just give him a bit of space, as hard as that might be."

"Okay. I'll do what you ask. I'll stay away," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "But, hang on…I'm confused. How can I be both a threat and a possible cure?"

"Put it this way," said Enola, patiently. "If Neville was badly hurt, my power could heal him in a way that another Healer's couldn't. Our cores of being, our essences, have fused in the most primal way. They are pretty much one now. That has certain benefits."

Hermione shifted as she processed Enola's suggestion. She massaged an ache in her chest.

"That's because of your marriage, isn't it? Is that what you're saying?"

Enola nodded with a smile. "Harry performed a proper wedding ritual on us. A marriage ceremony isn't just saying nice vows and exchanging rings. Its about giving into those vows absolutely, committing everything to one another. Magic just allows that bond to be formed with a real, energetic force. I made vows to Nev, and he to me. Harry simply used his magic to bind us, and all the forces of our lives, together."

"Like you think his and mine are trying to do now? Harry created that connection for you?"

"It wasn't quite like that," said Enola. "Nev and I had emotionally joined already. Harry just sealed it, empowered and protected it with a ritual. It made me and Nev unspeakably closer. I didn't think I would ever get that close to another human being, know them so intimately, in such indefinable ways. But it's incredible. I would die without it, but I could also heal Nev _with it_."

"Because its a unique force between you?"

"Exactly. One based on how much we love each other."

"And you think I could have the same sort of impact on Harry?"

Enola smiled and nodded. "Which is why you seriously need to stop seeing me as a threat to you."

Hermione blushed with a guilty sigh. Her voice was small when she finally replied. "You've noticed that, have you?"

"Just a little," Enola quirked. "What will it take for you to understand that, though Harry and I are close, its not in _that_ way? And never has been. I am, quite literally, _consumed_ by Neville and our little girl. Just as Harry is obsessed and infatuated with you. Surely, you must know by now the intensity of emotion you invoke in him."

Hermione smiled to herself as she considered it. "I'm coming to realise it more and more. Its startling and humbling and tough to accept at times. I...I actually feel a bit guilty for having it. But covetous of it at the same time, you know? I'm sure I don't deserve it. I cant really explain properly. But I almost feel, I don't know..._wrong_, in a way."

Enola looked at her, deeply puzzled. "That's a weird thing to say. What could possibly be wrong about it? Don't tell me you're feeling guilty for cheating on that bellend husband of yours!"

"Oh, fuck no," Hermione cried, vehemently. "Its nothing to do with that skrewt-fiddler. Well, I suppose it _is,_ really, but definitely not like that. _Cheating!_ The only infidelity I've ever committed was against Harry and his memory, by allowing my subjugation by that ginger wank stain."

Enola barked a laugh. "Glad to see you've got your anger under control again. Even your bad language has a sort of poetic elegance to it. I'm quite envious."

Hermione scoffed. "At least my perception isn't skewed. _Cheating on Ron_. Pfft! He gave up any right to expect my faithfulness the first time his fist bruised my cheek."

"Hermione, love, he relinquished any claim of the sort way before that. Harry's told me enough for me to know _that_."

"And you wonder why I'm jealous of your relationship?" said Hermione hotly. "Harry has shared private things with you. He doesn't do that with anyone."

"Except you," said Enola. "I understand where you're coming from, I really do, but you needn't be jealous. Harry and I are close because of the intimate nature of how I've helped in his healing, nothing more. We've shared things he keeps from others. His fears, his worries, relived some of the things that have given him such a damaged life. It's created a deep trust between us. Like a doctor/patient relationship, with friends thrown in for good measure."

"You just happen to be gorgeous," Hermione huffed. "I've seen the way you look at each other…there's a definite attraction there."

"Min…you've _felt_ Harry. Felt the allure of his energy. You know what he's like. I think you'll struggle to find any woman who isn't at least a little attracted to him because of that. But is that what this is? A purely physical thing?"

Hermione sighed and frowned. "To be honest, a lot of my problems are physical. Its what I meant by it all feeling a bit wrong in a way."

"How so? Please don't tell me you're regretting anything that's happened with you and Harry since he saved you."

"No...no, absolutely not!" said Hermione quickly. "That's not what I meant at all. Its the most incredible, most wonderful...oh, Ennie, I can't even put good enough words to it! If I'm honest, I'm itching for more, for it to go further. Its Harry that's holding back. That's what's unsettling me."

"I don't follow," said Enola.

"I shouldn't be feeling like this!" said Hermione, slightly manic. "Not so deliriously happy that I'm with Harry. Not so breath-taken by his magic, by his very _presence_, that I just want to rip his clothes off and jump on him whenever I'm next to him. I feel _feral_ when I'm around him. More alive than I thought possible.

"But I shouldn't. After all I've been through, _I_ should be the one, surely, who's afraid of the commitment, of the intimacy. But I'm not. I'm frantic for it, from holding hands to the most passionate moments we've shared so far. I haven't kissed Harry for a couple of days and its driving me potty. But then I think of it and I feel guilty for being happy, then guilty for _feeling_ guilty, when this is all I've ever wanted. What does that say about me?"

Her words were tripping over themselves to get out of her. Enola considered that Hermione probably wasn't used to _girl-time_…to have someone to share and confess with. She must have been bottling all this up for _weeks_. It did little to ease Enola's heartache where she was concerned. She was so bright and lovely, so worthy of being happy and grounded. Enola felt a personal mission coming on.

"It says that you've been starved of affection, downtrodden" Enola replied, simply. "And now Harry's showering you with every scrap of emotion he has. And you're thrilled by it. There's no shame in that."

"No shame!" cried Hermione. "How can you say that? Don't you think its _abnormal_ that I've gotten over my abuses so quickly? That my body now aches for things from Harry that made me physically sick when forced on me by Ron?"

"You told me before you dealt with those abuses by numbing yourself to them," said Enola, gently. "By making it a fucked up sort of normal so you wouldn't lose your mind. It detached you, gave you a way to cope. It wasn't sex to be enjoyed, or intimacy to bask in. It was lay back, get it over with, move on. It let you survive."

"I know, I know," said Hermione tiredly. "But I got so conditioned to it. Taught myself that's all there was to it. But now...I _need_ physical intimacy with Harry. I need to touch him. All the time. That's why asking me to stay away from him is like asking me to do without oxygen. I _have_ to be near him. But I've realised...I __always __have. Even when we were kids. And its not just because he makes me feel ridiculously safe - which he does - but my own body yearns to be next to his. To feel his heat on mine. But I've gotten so used to the cold. Its so confusing."

"Do you want to know what I think? It explains a lot."

"It does?"

Enola nodded. "You shut yourself down when you married that fucktard you were forced to. Coped with the last five years almost like a second personality was there instead of you.

"Then Harry comes back to life...and you did, too. Without realising it, part of you had died with him."

Hermione let out a startled breath, a half-sob. As though Enola's blatant truth had been hiding in plain sight all this time. It seemed to hit Hermione hard in the heart, as if she felt it was so right. She clutched at her chest again.

"Then Harry comes and rescues you," Enola continued. "And you give in to how you feel for each other. Neither of you truly appreciates it, but only you can heal the others' wounds. You've made great strides already. And both of you were physically damaged. You want to be intimate with Harry, despite what you've been through. And_ you're_ the only person he's happy to let touch him, _in any way,_ besides my baby daughter. You have each others' total trust and most powerful affection.

"And you're possessive of it. I get it. Starved of love, you don't want to share it. Its all yours. I know how you feel, I really do. I'm very possessive myself. There was this witch, once, who made a play for my Nev. Offered him her Floo address and everything. Right in front of my face. I was livid."

"When did that happen?"

"There was a nightclub in Gloucester, __The Protean, __magicals only," said Enola. "Nev and I went there to celebrate when I found out I was pregnant. It was a masquerade ball so Nev could hide his face. Anyway, this girl spotted him and kept chatting to him whenever he went to the bar. She started getting a bit handsy with him and I flipped."

"What did you do?" Hermione chortled.

"I broke the silly bitch's nose!" said Enola. "Then I found out where she worked, and kept bombarding her with daily anonymous Howlers, for about a month."

"Why did you stop?"

Enola froze, her breathing became suddenly ragged and all the colour left her cheeks. Her voice was unbelievably quiet when she spoke again.

"I learned she was dragged in by the Muggleborn Registration Commission. For being a Muggleborn witch who...who hadn't secured a marriage to a Pureblood wizard, despite her three month _probatio_n." Enola sucked in a sobbing breath, silent tears flowing from her eyes. "She saw Neville and his family crest, tattooed on his wrist...she had only been trying to...anyway, she was hauled before a trumped-up trial...found guilty of her _crimes_ and...and e-executed. She was only twenty. Apparently she'd spent every night in the club, trying to secure a husband. She was just getting desperate when she saw Neville, his tattoo and no wedding ring. He'd taken it off because we were pretending to be on a first date that night. Its n-not my proudest moment."

Enola slumped against the bed, heaving tears as the memory consumed her. Hermione leapt up to comfort her, rubbing her shoulders as she wept.

"I hate the world, everything outside of the palace wards," said Hermione grimly. "I sometimes close my eyes and fume at it, hope my very ire can burn it all down if I wish hard enough for it."

Enola sniffled and chuckled at that.

"That thing with the girl in the club wasn't your fault," Hermione went on comfortingly. "Its Riddle's fault, and Ron's, and all the other bigots who bought into this Pureblood mania. We'll put it right. All of us. They've taken so much from us all. But they'll take no more. A line must be drawn, so lets draw it here! And make them _pay_ for everything they've done."

Enola steeled herself and clutched at Hermione's hand on her shoulder. Her fingers settled on the ring she wore. "When are you going to marry Harry? You are so his perfect Queen."

"So everyone keeps saying," said Hermione. "But I don't feel anything but my mouth is up to the job!"

"_Hermione!_" Enola cried, mischievously. "How far _have_ you and Harry gotten, then? Tell, tell!"

"Sweet Merlin, Enola!" Hermione replied as she blushed. "You sexualise _everything_, don't you? Has anyone ever told you -"

"I need to get laid, yes, I know," Enola replied sadly. She averted her eyes and bowed her head. "It's not my fault…"

Her words tailed off into the ether.

"Are you and Neville having...er...troubles? In the bedroom?"

Enola flicked her eyes up, and nodded lightly. "He's not dealing with the stress very well. Of parenthood and the war and the risks it places on me and Ally. I've tried everything to get him in the mood. Dressing up, dirty talk, I left some naughty photos in his wallet...they move, you know…so I was _very_ explicit…"

Enola blushed and looked at the floor.

"To be honest, Ennie, if you can't get him turned on just by being in the same room I think you need to look at the bigger problem," said Hermione. "You realise you're hotter than the sun, don't you?"

Enola giggled. "Thanks. Harry says that about you, you know."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "H-he does?...Well, that's...um...well…he did? You know, I kind of hate Harry a little bit. He has this annoying habit of making me want to kiss his face off at times he's nowhere near me!"

Enola laughed. "Keeps you keen, though! Anyway, I don't know what else to do. Nev just doesn't seem interested anymore."

"Well that's the biggest load of bullshit ever spoken," Hermione scoffed dismissively. "Nev has told _me_ some of the things he thinks about _you_. Lack of interest really isn't the problem. Seriously, En, all the life in this palace would erupt into a mass brawl to line up to fuck you, if you asked them to. Wizard, witch, elf, ghost…fuck me, even the statues would come to life at the chance to get into _your_ knickers!

"And Neville wants you more than any of them. Would violently beat them all into submission for even _looking_ at you in the wrong way. What you need is some alone time. Fuck the war for a couple of days. Leave, go somewhere, just the two of you. Me and Harry will look after Alison. Have romantic daytimes, and turn the nights over to raw passion. And, just in case, take an anti-dysfunction potion, or use an Engorgement Charm."

"You seem pretty clued up on this, Min," said Enola, shrewdly. "Didn't have a bit on the side during your loveless marriage, did you?"

"Only one that was battery powered," said Hermione lightly. "But Ron, thankfully, wasn't all that attracted to me. Oddly, it was only when he thought about the future wives being groomed for him that he got really excited. He often talked about that during our monthly commune. I'm hoping it was the idea of being able to dominate more than one woman that got him hard and not their age...they were really quite young.

"Anyway, he struggled to get an erection for the last few years. And I had to have sex with him or I could be up for investigation, or possible internment at one of the labour camps. There was a charm on me to prove I had been properly penetrated. So I developed the strongest anti-erectile dysfunction potions and arousal potions I could, and mastered the Engorgio Charm. To be honest, I might have needed Engorgio even if we'd married for the right reasons. Seriously, he barely touched the sides when he stole my virginity!"

Enola cackled at that. "Would...do you think...I mean, would it be too much to ask..."

"Of course I'll brew them for you," said Hermione. "They don't take long. Just get me access to Cassie's lab for a few hours. I _guarantee_ Nev will last longer than that!"

Enola's eyes widened, her expression dreamy. "Thank you, Min. I owe you. What can I do for you in return?"

Hermione steeled her expression. She'd been thinking long and hard about this. "Teach me how to fight. I mean _properly._ I want to become an Acolyte of St David, like you and Harry's mum. I'm not good enough for him just now. But I _so_ fucking will be. I swear it on our unborn children. I want his mum to be proud of me as her daughter-in-law, maybe his dad to fancy me just a bit.

"Ennie - help make into me the Queen everyone keeps telling me I can be…please?"

Enola looked at her resolutely, testing her sincerity. Hermione met her gaze steadfastly. Satisfied at what she found, Enola nodded.

"It wont be easy," said Enola. "And it involves some serious oaths and a blood ritual. Oh, and a sacrifice."

"What sort of sacrifice?"

"Your modesty and inhibitions," said Enola. "The ritual is conducted in a coven of naked witches. You have to shed your earthly shields and open up to nature fully. The infusion is worth it, though."

"Naked?" asked Hermione, shyly.

"If you can't shed your clothes in front of other women, how will you have the courage to slit one's throat if they threaten your loved ones?"

Hermione nodded. "I can do that. When can we perform the ceremony?"

"I'll have to nominate you formally," said Enola. "I'll do that today. Harry might hate me for it, but I happen to think you're right on this, so Harry can just put up with it. Then we just need six witches for the ritual. I'll be one. Fan, Ann, Cass, Alice, my Mum...oh, and we'll need Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione gasped. "For what?"

"She's the Head Acolyte. Only she can conduct the ritual. I'll message her. We'll set it up for Saturday."

"But that's days away," Hermione scoffed.

"I can't do it sooner," said Enola. "I'm too worried...and so are you. We wont be focused enough for the ritual."

"Why are you worried?"

Enola shook and sighed. "Nev's heading out tonight. Intelligence gathering. He's done it before, and he's taking his Dad…but still…"

Her words failed her again. Hermione squeezed her hand.

"He'll be alright, you know," said Hermione softly. "He's used to taking risks. Besides, his Dad will look after him."

"Yeah, I know," said Enola, staring wistfully out of the window as if hoping to see Neville looking back. "Its just that...the world is so much more dangerous now. And, though I know I shouldn't say it, I always knew Harry could go to the rescue if Nev got in too deep before. But now..."

Her voice tailed off. The concern was written into every scrap of her porcelain complexion, settled fitfully behind her green eyes. Hermione looked desperate to soothe her worry, but didn't know how. She had enough of her own over Harry, and neither situation could guarantee a positive outcome.

"Oh, look at me! Getting all morose," Enola cried suddenly. She drew a steadying breath. "You're right. Nev will be fine. He'll kick ass if he has to. I can't do anything about that. In the meantime, grab your wand and follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"Harry and Nev's duelling suite," said Enola. Then she grinned. "I owe you for hexing my husband. Who knows how long his cock will take to get over that! It isn't wise to deny an antsy woman with a wand!"

Hermione chuckled back. "Okay. But Harry…he is alright, yes?"

"He needs to rest," said Enola. "I've helped him to his Safe Space…a level of his Mindscape where he is free of all concerns. He will be relaxing there, quite content. And when he gets discontent he will be healed enough to leave. Then we will need to help him, because to come back he has to face that part of his mind where he traps his darkness. And he is stupidly outnumbered down there just now. But now, I have a challenge for you."

"Which is?"

"I've heard tell that you are the most powerful witch of the age," said Enola. "_Prove it. _Only that will be good enough for _my_ Harry."

Enola winked teasingly at Hermione, who grinned back. And accepted the challenge.

* * *

Neville drummed his fingers on the hilt of Gryffindor's Sword in his belt, as he paced around the hilltop. He was impatient, restless. But not through fear. He'd been taking this sort of risk for ages, longer than Harry, even. For when Harry had been abroad being tooled up for war, it had been Neville who had borne the brunt of the risks on the infinitely more dangerous Home Front. Not that he resented Harry for it, far from it. It was quite the opposite. He felt proud to be Harry's most trust General…and Harry was always appreciative of the risks and efforts he undertook. They were a tandem operation.

And it had given him the coolest skill set. Stealth, evasion, espionage…it was one hell of a fucking life as far as adrenaline went. And Neville had proven to be very good at it, which made him love it even more. His early life hadn't been flush with success and respect, so he relished his adroitness now. The fact that he got to stick two fingers up to the most dangerous dark sorcerer in the world just made him feel even more of a badass.

And he _liked _that.

But, still, that now familiar niggle pinched at the back of his thoughts. His mind could never fully be on _field work_ now. Two-thirds of it were permanently planted miles away, at that beautiful spot in Wales, where his stunning wife and beautiful daughter were safely ensconced. Oh how he'd love to just live there with them, raise a family and see if he could ever master the local language!

It was a simple dream, but a million miles away right now.

So he paced, and fretted, and waited for the Portkey at his feet to turn blue. If it didn't, they had problems. But he had a few minutes before he had to consider the ramifications of that. And in those few minutes he could think about his daughter, so pure and happy and a bundle of joy. And how his heart would be ripped to pieces if Tom Riddle slashed her throat…as he'd so heartlessly done with the Queen of England.

The very idea made Neville throw up a bit in his mouth. He spat it out and took a series of deep breaths. Then he went back to pacing.

"Nev, son, you need to take a breather. I'm an old man…I'm tired out just _watching_ you!"

Neville stopped and laughed. "Sorry, Dad. I forgot you were a cretin!"

"Hey! I said 'old', not 'cretinous'."

"Is there a difference? I've never noticed."

"You know, you may be an adult with a wand but you aren't beyond a spanking," said Frank, chuckling.

"That's child abuse, Dad," said Neville seriously. "Do the CSA or Childline have a wizarding branch? I can pass your details on to them."

Frank heaved with laughter. "Oh, Nev…they'd take one look at you and decide I was being too _lenient_. But, by all means, make a rod for your own back."

"Shut up, Dad," Neville smirked.

"But, seriously…what's wrong?" asked Frank. "You seem troubled."

Neville stilled and blushed. "Just worried," he said evasively. "For Ennie and Ally, you know. We are at war, in case you hadn't noticed."

Frank sighed. "I see little difference now to when you married her, what was it, two years ago?"

"Three," Neville corrected.

"Three, then. But that isn't it. You're a good boy, Nev…which means you are a bad liar. What is it? Come and tell your old Dad."

"I don't want to talk about it," said Neville, looking back at the Portkey.

"Ahh," said Frank sagely. "Then its your cock."

"Dad!"

"What?" asked Frank, unabashed. "What else could turn you so coy?"

"What the actual fuck?" Neville cried hotly. He shook his head.

"Look, Nev, I don't want to point out the blindingly fucking obvious, but I'm not just your father…I'm a _man_. I know something about this."

Neville turned around. "Y-you do? What do you know?"

"Tell me your problem first. Maybe we can compare notes."

"Dad! Seriously?"

"Is it a sex problem?" said Frank, seriously. His tone robbed Neville of his embarrassment. It was firm and, well, _frank_. "Because - and don't take this the weird way its going to sound - but you realise you married a veritable _goddess_ of a girl, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" said Neville, grinning despite the oddity of the conversation. "We've been married three years but, sometimes, I still just out and _stare_ at her. For no reason. Well, other than she's fucking _divinity_ _incarnate_. I have to pinch myself that I married her."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I…I don't know," said Neville. "I've just stopped…being able to be intimate. In a, well, _practical_ sort of way."

"Ah…I see."

"Did…did you ever have that problem?" asked Neville, his voice small.

"Me? No," said Frank, shaking his head. "Your mum turned me on just by looking at me!"

"Oh, sweet fucking _Merlin_, Dad! Stop right now!"

"What? Do you think you were conceived by divine intervention?" asked Frank. "I don't know…maybe you do. I never got to have the _birds and bees_ talk with you did I?"

Father and son looked at each other. They chorused together. "Fucking Voldemort."

And they both fell back laughing.

"Look, Nev," said Frank, still grinning. "You and Harry brought me back to life essentially. Gave me the chance to be the father to you that the Lestranges tried to deny us. I lost your childhood to them…but being your father is a _forever_ job. If you need to talk, we can talk. No holds barred."

"Thanks, Dad," said Neville. Then his attention caught, as did his breath.

For the Portkey in front of them was glowing blue.

"On your feet, son," said Frank, leaping up and deftly pulling his wand. Neville rose, too…unsheathing the Sword of Gryffindor as he reached his feet. He held the hilt tightly in his hand, feeling its warm power sweep up from his fingertips right to his shoulder. His great ancestors were with him tonight, ranged alongside him and his father.

The Portkey shook and rattled violently, then it shot up into the air, and created a swirling vortex of light and colour. A single wizard span into existence in the middle of it, before being dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, where he lay quite still a moment. Neville watched him carefully, his eyes fixed on his wand-arm. He didn't move initially, so Frank nudged him with his boot. The wizard moaned in response.

Neville bent down and looked at the wizard's face. Then he reeled back in disgust. It was horribly mangled. He was deformed almost to the point of being unrecognisable. Neville had to cast a diagnostic spell at his body just be sure it was him. His face was slashed with deep lesions, his nose smashed and his eye sockets nothing more than bulbous, black lumps.

"Steve! Steven!" Neville asked pointedly. "Can you hear me?"

Steven Maxwell, one of the old Queen's Guard, groaned in response and tried to open his eyes. He could barely even manage that. Neville looked closely at him. He was clinging to life by only the merest of threads.

"Davies? Where is he?"

Maxwell shook his head with the tiniest of movements. Neville swore loudly. In the meantime, Frank knelt down at the wizard's side and passed his wand up and down Maxwell's broken body. Neville met his eyes as he completed the diagnostic. His expression was stony and grave and he, too, shook his head.

"Steve…did you find what we asked you to?" Neville pressed, though his tone was a little softer.

Maxwell moaned again by way of response, but it was a small movement of his hand which drew Neville attention. Maxwell opened his fist and a bundled scrap of parchment fell out. Neville took it and read the single word written upon it. His spirit dropped in a moment.

"What is it, Nev?" asked Frank.

Neville handed over the parchment. "That's the fuck __what,"__ he spat angrily.

Frank read the parchment. "Bollocks."

"Call the others," said Neville, taking the parchment back. "We're going to need help for this. Rhian!"

The head elf popped into view. She looked at the mangled body before her and screwed a stormy expression onto her face.

"I take Mr Steven back for healing," she said stepping forwards.

"No, there's no need for that," said Neville sadly. "Take him back by all means…but have Gwillym prepare him a proper plot…in the cemetery."

"Oh, Master Neville!" cried Rhian. "Is he that far gone?"

Neville nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. Have your elves take proper good care of his body."

"Yes, Master Neville," said Rhian.

"And take this to Lady Longbottom, will you?" Neville went on. "I've been gone three days. She'll want to know where I am."

Neville handed the now folded scrap of parchment to the elf. Rhian looked swarthily at him, as though she could read the writing on the closed, blood-splattered sheet.

"Master Neville going into silly danger!" she admonished. "Master Harry would not approve. And Lady Longbottom will kill you…if yous get out alive."

Neville just chuckled at that. "We'll be alright. The Inner Circle are on their way. Its time to give old Tom Riddle a taste of the power of joined ritual magic."

Rhian growled, her battle laugh. "You want the elves to join?"

"Oh no, not yet," said Neville. "We will keep that little gem for another time. They put the shits up us with that little trick of pulling dead Dumbledore out of the hat. Its time to show him we have a few surprises of our own."

"Master Harry still not approve," said Rhian. "He be very cross when he finds out. He tell you off chronic for this."

Neville hooted another laugh. "Don't worry about Harry. I have the perfect tonic. I'll get Hermione to kiss him senseless, then he wont be able to tell me off. He wont be able to speak _and_ it will lighten his mood. Its a foolproof plan!"

"That probably work," Rhian nodded. "I go now. But yous be _careful_ Master and Master Longbottoms. No silly risks!"

"We will," Frank and Neville chorused. Then Neville exchanged a secretive, knowing wink with his father. Frank nodded with steely, war-like resolve.

Then Rhian placed a hand on Maxwell's cold skin and Apparated away. She didn't bother to tell Neville that he'd already died in front of them.

* * *

Harry lounged back in the hammock and stretched his arms above his head. It was another beautifully sunny day in Wales. He scoffed at the notion that it always rained here. He couldn't remember the last time it wasn't baking down and bright. Lying bastards. He might as well have been sunning himself in the Med. Okay so he wasn't at the beach, rocking gently instead between two holly trees in his palace garden, but the ambiance was pretty much the same.

It was calm, serene. This was the life for Harry.

No cares, no worries. No impending death to avoid, or evil life to take. He wasn't chasing after Dark Wizards who put their cocks into snakes and split their souls just for poops and giggles. He was relaxed, carefree. If he wanted to run and play like he was a child again, he could. Not that he'd ever run and played when he _was_ a child. He'd run a lot. From Dudley Dursley and his gang, from Uncle Vernon's fists and steel-buckled belt, from Aunt Petunia's clothes iron and rolling pin and acidic, forked tongue. But it was hardly what you'd call _play_.

The running didn't stop at Hogwarts either, really. Only now he was being chased by said snake-bothering wizards and trolls and giant serpents. And the occasional dragon. And the repeated recriminations of his school yard peers, the Wizarding Media and even arms of Wizarding Government. He'd had a pretty fucking hard run of it, when he stopped to consider it.

Which was what the hammock was for. He could lie here idly by the hour, going over all the fucked up crap he'd had to endure. All the while sipping cocktails from a magically-refilling glass. It was a bizarre contrast. But he could almost laugh at it now, marvel all the things he'd experienced and come through alive. It was certainly a story to tell. One day, maybe he'd write it down. It was peaceful enough here to be a scribe.

The only thing he missed about the other worlds was Hermione. One day he'd bring her down here. They could spend years just being together without any earthly distractions. They could make up for all the time they'd lost trying to right the wrongs of the world. Or pacifying love interests who were a contradiction in terms.

Love. Harry had barely any true notion of the idea until just recently. It was always something he was vaguely aware of, something he saw in others, but could never quite grasp in himself. Even when his mother had told him he was in love with Hermione, he didn't really believe it. He'd have known, surely. He'd barely been out of her company, for even a day, for seven years. It was right in front of him. And everyone said you knew when you were in love.

But that was probably part of the problem. She was right in front of him, or next to him. All the time. And he was just so used to her being there. Supporting him, checking him, becoming his voice of reason in a mind of chaotic recklessness. And he had fallen in love with her just for that, without even knowing. They hadn't been apart long enough for him to pine for her, and the only time he might have been jealous of a love rival he had the shadow of death hanging over him. It was a cruel distraction.

But he didn't know love felt like _this_. So anarchic. Ranging to such extremes, for better and for worse. It made Harry lose his mind either way. And he was senselessly content at either pole. Whether he was wild in his defence of her, or passionate in embracing her, he was equally heightened, and so very alive. And, in a life that had flirted so casually with death, there was something to be said for that.

And she'd like him better down here, he was sure of that. Where he was calm and _could_ be playful if he wanted to, where no-one else would see that side of him. He'd show it to Hermione. And they could play together. And he could look at her with unimpeded vision, drink her in with _both_ his eyes. For he had them in this plane. And he was prettier, too, even if he said so himself. Hermione could have him all to herself. They would be all alone.

Although, they _wouldn't be._

For Harry was blithely aware that he _wasn't_ alone. It was a niggle he'd been trying to swat away, like an irritating fly making moves for his cocktail glass. He tried to pass it off as his magic recovering. After all, he'd given Ron and the Death Eaters a fucking _pasting_ in the ritual chamber. Even Riddle was there in some form. That wasn't a battle ground they'd be keen to meet him on again in a hurry. Dumb twats. He hoped he'd put the shits up them something good and proper.

But it had cost him a lot of magic. He was fucked, in truth. He'd been on the hammock for _ages_ recuperating and regenerating_. _Merlin, it could have been _months_. He had no concept of the passage of time down here. And he didn't feel a hell of a lot healthier. It had been one epic fight. And he needed some alone time to recover his strength.

But still...this niggle...

It wouldn't go away. It was like a darting movement at the corner of his eye. A barely perceptible presence. But a presence it remained. And that was concerning, for there was never anyone else down here. It was just him and his thoughts. Not even Enola came here. She just opened a path for him, but never took it herself.

But this new presence _had._

It was soft, benevolent, but distinctly unfamiliar. It was skirting around the edges of his mind and the more he thought about it, the more the irritant became an itch that he would have to scratch.

Eventually, it got too much. Huffing, Harry pulled himself up from his hammock and began his search. It wouldn't be easy. The palace was empty, devoid of life. Even the walls, which were charmed and runed to respond to and obey him, were silent in this realm. It was Harry's mindscape, a facsimile of the real thing. It didn't work the way he'd normally use it. So this hidden life, wherever it was, would have to be located the old fashioned way.

It was a game of _hide-and-seek_ now.

And Harry was a skilled hunter. He moved through the grounds, checking every lawn and copse until he was confident this elusive spirit wasn't there. Then he began a meticulous search of the house, locking rooms as he ticked off each one. Every now and then, he would catch a flick of movement down a corridor, or through a gap in a door, or between the railings of an upper-floor landing, and it was tempting to go after each one. But he wasn't to be distracted.

And as he chalked off each floor, he grew closer to his quarry. He felt it more, understood _her_ more. For he knew this was a girl. Young. Not as young as Alison, but not as old as the youngest teenagers who lived in the palace. Harry had a fair idea who it was, but how she'd managed to penetrate his mind was a curious conundrum for him to ponder on his search.

Then he turned a corner into a top-floor corridor. And there she was, standing waiting for him. As he'd suspected, it was the girl he had rescued from Glastonbury. This was damned peculiar.

"You found me!" she giggled. "Its your turn to hide now."

Harry strode forwards. He offered the girl a warm smile. "My mum told me not to play with strangers. I'll play...but I need to know who I'm hiding from. You could be a monster. I'd have to make my hiding place _really good_ if you were."

"I'm not a monster!" the girl protested.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. "That's what all monsters say," he teased. He patted the floor in front of him, beckoning the girl to sit.

She mimicked his actions. "My mummy calls me her _little star_."

"Does she now?" Harry quirked. "And does the little star have a name?"

"My name's Celesca," said the girl brightly. "And you're Mr Harry."

"You know me?"

"It's your mind," said Celesca, looking around curiously. "Its very quiet here. You must be lonely."

"I need a quiet space sometimes," said Harry. "It helps me think."

Celesca nodded. "Your mind is very busy. Lots and lots going round it. It whirls and whirls like a bad storm."

Harry eyed the girl questionningly. "How do you know that?"

"I can see things," said Celesca, shyly. "Some things are far away, some things are right in people's heads."

Harry looked at her, astonished. "You're a _Seer?_"

Celesca grinned shyly. "My mummy used to call me Little Alice."

"Like _Alice Through the Looking-Glass_?"

"How do you know? That's a Muggle book."

"I was raised by Muggles," said Harry. "And I've always loved to read."

"Me too!" Celesca chirruped.

"I have a huge library here," said Harry. "I'll happily show you round it. If you want to talk when I wake up."

Celesca suddenly looked terrified. "I don't think I'm ready to wake up just yet. I need quiet time, too."

Harry nodded sadly. "Because of what happened to your mother? I'm sorry, Celesca. If I'd have gotten there sooner, maybe I could have saved her, and your dad."

"Oh...that wasn't my mum and dad," said Celesca. "I had to _say_ they were...if the bad men asked...but you're not one of the bad men, so I can tell you."

"Okay," said Harry, startled. "So, who were they then? At Glastonbury?"

"That was Aunt Venusia and Uncle Colin," Celesca explained. "But I had to pretend they were my parents. I would have been taken away if I lived with my real mum. So I stay with Aunt Venusia."

"So...who's your real mum?"

Celesca shifted awkwardly. "I can't tell. Its a secret. Not mine to tell. Its to keep us both safe."

"But she's still alive?" asked Harry. Celesca nodded. "And your dad?"

Celesca frowned nastily. It took harry by surprise. Her soft features didn't seem capable of such vitriol.

"Don't mention _him_!" Celesca hissed. "He's a bad, bad man. Put me in my mummy's tummy without asking her. I saw it once in a dream. She cried so much. But my mummy loves me, so she keeps me safe."

Harry was primed to fighting concern now. "And is your mummy safe?"

Celesca shook her little, white-blonde head. Glistening moisture appeared under her striking blue eyes. "No. She's not safe at all."

"Do you know where she is?" asked Harry gently. "I could go and rescue her."

Celesca looked up in blind hope. "You could?"

Harry nodded firmly. "If I knew where she was."

Celesca closed her eyes. "She's in a room. Or it could be a box. She's standing up, but she's squashed. There's only enough room for one person, but there are three others next to her. Two of them are crying. I think one is sleeping. He's not moving. She doesn't have any clothes on. And she can't breathe very well."

Harry fumed with anger. He felt his power struggling to match his restlessness. He swore at himself. He needed to help this poor woman, but he couldn't. He was too weak.

"Any thing else?" Harry pushed. "Where is this room? Can you see anything else."

Little Celesca scrunched up her eyes. Its a big building, in a big complex. There are lots of long buildings. People are there, too. Lots of people. They are all sad and scared. And so very tired. I'm getting tired, Mr Harry. And I'm scared. I don't want to be here. I think someone's watching me..."

"Who? Who's watching you?"

"Its a man...he's not nice...his eyes scare me...they're like...they're like..."

"Like what?"

"_Snake's eyes! _And he can _see_ me!"

"Come away from there!" said Harry forcefully. Celesca opened her eyes, wide and frightened. She jumped into Harry's lap and clung to him.

"There, there...its alright now," said Harry, patting her back awkwardly. "You're safe."

"That's not a nice place, Mr Harry," Celesca whimpered. "My mummy doesn't like it there. She's too lovely for a place like that! Please help her."

"I will," Harry promised. "You go and rest. I'll save your mummy. Then we'll finish hide-and-seek, okay?"

Celesca smiled up at him. "Okay. I'm going to find another hiding spot. You'll never find me!"

"We'll see about that," said Harry lightly. "I'm very good."

Celesca stood up. Then she stared at Harry, solemn and serious. Something else was on her mind.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Celesca glanced up at the ceiling. Harry couldn't say how he was sure, but he _knew_ she was looking at another world.

"You'd better go..." she said quietly, fearfully. "Better...hurry."

Harry was suddenly irrationally afraid. "Why?"

Celesca returned her gaze to him. "Your lady knows. She knows where my mummy is. And her friend, the pretty one with the baby...she's going crazy. Her baby's daddy is already there...and he's in trouble. Your lady is going to try and rescue him."

Harry leapt up, taut and wired. "Lily!"

There was no flash of flame, no crackle of fire. But, suddenly, a beautiful lady was stood before him. They exchanged looks.

"You know I don't like being without my feathers, Harry," Lily admonished. "I feel naked."

"You know what I'm going to ask you to do," said Harry. "Hermione's in danger. I need your power now. Sorry. I know how much Burning Days hurt you. And you've just had one. Thank you for that, by the way. You saved my life."

"I'd do it again, as you well know," she sighed in response. "Come on. We don't have much time. Lets draw the circle. I'll take the alchemical and you take the runes?"

Harry nodded. "Draw fast, my love, draw fast."

* * *

Enola was utterly mindless. Hermione was bordering on subduing her magically. She understood completely, but she wasn't in the mood to argue.

"Sit down, you are not coming!" said Hermione firmly. She accepted her battle robes from Sally and stripped out of her regular clothes.

"You can't stop me! That's my husband out there!"

"And that's your daughter, crying for her mother!" Hermione shot back, nodding at Alison, balling away in her cot. "She needs you."

Enola tried to argue, but she couldn't. So she fumed a moment instead, then went to comfort her daughter.

"In any case," said Hermione, fastening the dragon-teeth toggles of her robe. "With Harry out of action, and Neville _in action_, the defence of the palace falls to you. Your place is here."

"But Neville..."

"Can take care of himself!" said Hermione shrilly. "And he's not alone in the fight. I'll be there myself in the next few minutes."

"And what do you intend to do?" asked Enola.

Hermione looked stoutly at her. "I'll save Neville. I'll rescue Luna, if she's still alive. Then I'll burn that infernal place to the ground...with my ex-husband still inside it, if I'm lucky!"

Hermione looked angrily at the piece of parchment on the desk. She eyed the single word, written in nervous script, the bloodstains, and her anger stirred.

_Hengest_. Home sweet fucking home.

"Please hurry, Hermione," said Enola desperately. "Don't let them kill my Nev. Don't let them take him from me."

Hermione darted forwards and took the baby from her. For Enola had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. She stumbled faintly to her knees, weeping profusely. Hermione handed Alison to Sally, who cooed to her.

"I'll bring Neville back," said Hermione clutching Enola's tear-wracked body tight to her own. "I promise."

Just then, Cassie skidded into the nursery. She handed Hermione a handful of what looked like ball-bearings.

"Magical bombs," said Cassie. "Configured to Dark Mark seek, but they'll take down walls just as well."

"Thanks," said Hermione, winking, as she pocketed the bombs.

"Good luck, my Lady!" Cassie grinned. "I'm prepping the infirmary...just in case."

Enola whined on the ground next to them. Hermione took a steeling breath. Then she summoned Rhian, who appeared with a _crack._ She didn't speak, just nodded at Hermione, who clutched her wand. Then Rhian took her hand and whipped her away in a whirl of colour.

The courtyard was in utter disarray. Hermione didn't know quite which way to turn. After all, she'd never seen the camp like this before. It was totally _battered._ She looked one way and saw Frank Longbottom, furiously duelling with a trio of Section Seven Agents, and winning. There were reserves waiting to take up the fight when one of their comrades fell. Behind him, Owain Glyndwr Jones was holding his arms aloft and casting an _actual hurricane_...sending Death Eaters spinning away at literal breakneck speed. Their bodies were breaking against a nearby palisade wall.

Patrick O'Brien and David Pincott were on _fire_. Burning and searing any enemies who strayed too close. Over their heads, Hermione could see Angharad and Myfanwy, back-to-back, like the eye of a storm. They were sending out spiral waves of magical force so powerful that they were cutting through the brickwork nearby. Hermione watched in awe, then she saw Neville trying to cut his way through an opening the girls had created.

"Rhian! Take me there!" Hermione commanded.

And the elf obeyed. In a quick rush of colour and air, Hermione was at Neville's side. She slashed her wand through the air and two Death Eaters crumpled nearby. Neville span to look at Hermione, and the corpses at her feet. He was startled to see her.

"What the fuck?"

"Go to your dad," Hermione commanded. "He's outnumbered. I'll get Luna."

"You shouldn't be here," said Neville. He was sporting a black eye and a split lip. "Harry will be pissed."

"He'll be pissed if any of us die," said Hermione angrily. "You shouldn't have done this alone. Get your dad...then get home to your wife."

"Not without Luna. That's why we're here."

"I'll find her," said Hermione. "I know my way around. Now go!"

Neville flicked a spell at a Death Eater who spotted them. He was hurled back under its force. Then Neville looked back at Hermione.

"For fucks sake...go!" she commanded. "I've got this. Kill some more of those cunts on the way out!"

"Yes...my Lady!" Neville grinned back at her, before disappearing into the chaos of the fight.

Hermione raced into the undercroft of the building she'd met Neville by. It was oddly quiet here. She could hear the ferocity of the battle outside. The cracks and bangs, the screams, the crashes of falling brickwork. But she couldn't sense Ron yet. He wasn't here, she was pretty sure of that. She supposed he must know a battle was raging on his land, but he wasn't part of it.

Fucking pussy. It was typical of him. Ginger prick.

A couple of guards suddenly sped around the corner of the corridor to Hermione's left. They flung curses at her, but Hermione's battle robes absorbed them as if they were nothing. She cast a blasting curse in response, cracking their pelvises in half. They screeched in agony and Hermione advanced on them. She raised her wand, but a spark of magic from behind her took their lives. She span around and gasped.

_"Sally!"_

"Look after Lady Hermione at all costs!" said the elf viciously. "Master Harry was _very_ specific!"

Hermione knelt down and hugged her elf. "Then you stick with me!"

"Yes, my Lady!"

Hermione hugged Sally again, and then they made off. They edged deeper into the building, away from the battle. The air was cool down here, but it was dark, too. Shadows moved and more than once Hermione had to pin herself and Sally to the wall until she was sure they were safe. And they kept going.

Tingles of fear crossed Hermione's skin now. The initial burst of adrenaline she'd felt upon arriving at the fight was wearing off. Now she was aware, mindful of the danger she was in. This was deep in enemy territory. And the thrill of terror that surged through her at the notion was almost dizzying.

"Lady Hermione, where we's be going?" Sally whispered.

"There are people trapped here," said Hermione. "One of them is an old friend that Harry needs to rescue. I'm trying to find her."

"And yous be sure she's here?"

"Actually, no," said Hermione stopping suddenly. "I don't even know if this is the prisoners block..."

"No...it isn't..."

A hated voice, a flash of green. Hermione span and pushed Sally out of the way. The spell missed the elf's heart, hitting her instead in the shoulder and ripping her arm violently from her body. Sally screeched in pitiful agony, before slumping against the wall and passing out.

Hermione looked up, furious anger pumping through her veins. She glowered at the source of the spell, and the forked tongue that had cast it. It was taunting her now.

"You're a long way from home, Granger. Or, actually, really close to it. I think you'll like what we've done to the place...you might even get to see inside it...if I'm feeling charitable."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," said Hermione straightening up. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not afraid of you."

"We can always see about changing that," said Malfoy, stalking forward into a pool of dull amber cast by dirty lights in the low ceiling. His shoulders rolled as his kimodo dragon-infused body edged closer. Hermione steeled herself against him.

"You're awfully confident for a man with no nose," Hermione spat. "One who had his arse royally handed to him by a dead man."

"Ah, yes, where is Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Leaving all the spade work to you again, I see. Some things never change."

Then he flicked a surprise spell at Hermione, a jet of purple light careered her way. She dodged it and fired a blasting curse at Malfoy. He side-stepped it lazily, but it still smashed a hole in the wall above his shoulder. He shook off the brick dust where it fell onto his robe.

"I see you've developed some claws, Mudblood," Malfoy drawled. "So much the better. This might actually be fun."

And it began. Malfoy rattled off quick curses but Hermione easily deflected them. Enola's advice was ringing in her ears - _don't get hit_. She would be in the fight as long she wasn't struck. But Malfoy's spells were powerful, some rattled into Hermione's Shield Charms and almost broke through.

But she could hold him. She realised that quickly. Malfoy was strong, but she was _stronger_. She danced and span away from a series of lightening blasts, which crashed into the walls but did her no damage. Then one took her by surprise, hitting her right in the gut. She doubled up, winded. But the spell had done only superficial damage. The battlerobe had done its job again. And Hermione realised something else as she assessed her injury.

Malfoy was _weakening._

These spells were costing him. Attack after attack was being repelled, but apart from the prospect of a bit of a bruised belly, Hermione was still full of energy. She felt deft and lithe, whereas Malfoy was breathing heavily ten feet away.

"Is that all you have?" Hermione taunted. "Merlin, if I'd known you were such a fanny I'd have smacked you around years ago."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Mudblood? Getting smacked about," Malfoy sneered, firing off another angry bolt that Hermione had to conjure a golden shield to deflect. It connected with a clanging gong and both shield and bolt vanished before them.

"Yeah, and at least Ron managed to _hurt_ me," Hermione spat back. "You haven't even made a dent. Fancy getting bested by a Weasley. A shame on your family."

Malfoy roared and cast a gout of fire from his wand. Hermione Apparated quickly, reappearing right next to Malfoy. He had crumbled to one knee with the effort of the last spell, and he looked up in shock at Hermione's sudden appearance next to him.

"Here, let me show you what I learned from Ron."

And she balled up her fist and drove it fiercely into Malfoy's face. He fell back and hit the floor. Hermione stepped up to him, then stamped on his head, three, four, five times. He whimpered in pain and reached for his wand, but Hermione kicked hard at his wrist. She heard it break with a satisfying crack. Malfoy rolled over and cradled his injured arm, and Hermione booted him repeatedly.

Anger was her master now. She saw only red, had eyes only for destruction. She saw Sally, her arm severed and bleeding out in an astonishing pool. She had to get her help before she died. As much as she would have liked to torture Malfoy, this battle she had won. The clock was against her. And Enola's words rang in her mind again.

_"Like Harry says - don't toy with your prey. When the fight is done...finish it quickly."_

So Hermione looked down, then rolled Malfoy and his broken body with her boot. She felt nothing as she stared down at his blood-mangled face. Not a shred of regret at what she knew she had to do.

And she raised her wand again.

"And this is something Harry taught me...I think you'll like it."

And she cast a Slicing Charm, then watched as a deep gash split Malfoy's throat in two. He gargled and choked as the blood filled his windpipe, and slid down into his lungs. Little blood bubbles popped at the corners of his mouth. He futilely tried to raise his hand to stem the bleeding, but Hermione simply stood on his wrist to hold his arm down. She held his gaze, fierce and steadfast until the last of his wretched life finally felt him. His body went limp, his last breath escaped from the opening in his throat.

And Hermione lifted her boot from his wrist. For Draco Malfoy was dead.

Hermione rushed back to Sally, casting a healing charm to stop the bleeding. But the elf was so _cold. _Rapsy breaths left her tiny lungs and Hermione knew time was short, She summoned the severed arm to her, hoping they might find a way to reattach it.

"Rhian!"

The older elf popped before her. Then let out an anguished cry as she saw her daughter in Hermione's arms.

"She dead! She dead! Mys beautiful Sally bes killed!"

"Rhian! Gather yourself!" said Hermione firmly. "She's not dead. There's time to save her."

"She _not_ dead?" Rhian cried hopefully.

"No, but she's badly hurt," said Hermione. "Get her back to the palace. Do it quickly."

"But why she even here? She a good elf. No place for a good elf in fighting."

"She came to look after me," said Hermione. "She took a curse for me. She was so brave. But she needs your help now. Get her home. Get her to Enola."

"Yes, yes, Lady Longbottom will fix my Sally. Then I spank her for being so foolish!"

Hermione chuckled. "Just get her out of here."

"What about you?"

"I still have to find Luna," said Hermione. "I just don't know where to look."

"Prisoners in cell block H making much noise," said Rhian. "And they got real magic over there. The rest be non-magic or Squiblets."

"Thanks, Rhian. That's where I'll go. Take care of Sally."

Hermione jumped up, kissed Rhian on the head and darted along the corridor, vaulting Draco Malfoy's corpse on the way. She made her way blindly along the route she'd taken in, trying to remember the way. Several times she thought she was lost in the maze of dark corridors, but then she heard the sounds of the battle still raging above. She sped towards it, finally found the staircase to the surface level and vaulted up it, two steps at a time.

Then she halted and lost her breath. For what looked like Voldemort's entire army was ranged against her.

She wasn't alone, but Patrick O'Brien and Sir David Pincott were clinging to each other for support, literally burned out from their fiery exertions. Owain and Neville were still gamely duelling and deflecting the volley of spells being hurled their way, while Frank and Myfanwy tended to Angharad who had a nasty burn across her face and chest, where her battlerobe had been torn open.

Hermione was hit with a shock of fear. They were _losing. _They couldn't possibly get out of this. There were hundreds and hundreds of wizards and witches marching on them, firing spells and roaring a blood-lust battle cry. The din was deafening and horrifying. It was the end. Somehow, Hermione _knew_ it.

She didn't think death would look like this. Or that it would feel so callous. She was so angry at it, at herself. She thought of all the things she wouldn't get to to, all the wrongs she'd failed to right in her life. She'd revenged on Malfoy, but she wouldn't get to face Ron. It was a bitter pill to concede victory to him.

And she invariably was led to Harry. All the missed time she'd lost with him. All the kisses and love they could have shared if they'd just opened up fully to each other after that flight on Buckbeak. That was when it truly came alive for her. She was mindlessly wild with the despair that she'd never know when it started for _him_. That he'd never be able to tell her that story, as they cwtched up in bed together with their newborn baby.

It was another thing she'd never get to do. Be the mother to Harry's children, or enjoy the making of them with him. It was fucking annoying! How dare they deny her this. She looked out across the courtyard, at the amassed faces there. Wondered which one of the bastards would be the one to take all these things from her. She would come back...haunt them fuck out of them. Drive them insane. It wasn't much of a revenge, but it was all she had. But who would it be?"

Then she saw a face, locked gazes with a cold, lifeless set of eyes. Black eyes, like a dolls eyes. And black hair. Long, ruler-straight. And skin so pale that it was if the very spectrum of colour had been pulled from her being. She looked at Hermione with dark sarcasm, as if she'd been waiting an age for her to notice. And she pointed in her direction with a malicious grin.

Ginny. Hermione was going to be killed by Ginevra fucking Weasley.

"Not in this life, you slag!"

Hermione flicked a curse across the courtyard. But it merely collided with an intensely powerful defence ward, created by the fusion of all the combined Death Eaters, who were only twenty feet away now. Heads turned to look at Hermione, and laughed viciously. Then they began to run forward towards her. Hermione sighed and took a deep, rattling breath.

This was it. This was the moment. The point it would all stop.

Hermione looked to the sky. "I love you, Harry."

And the sky erupted in response.

* * *

The Death Eaters had stopped running. They were held frozen by the decimation of the atmosphere around them. It pushed them backwards. The air had turned thick, almost gelatinous. Cold, unbridled fury rang and sparked on the breeze. Claps of thunder, booming from all around, were powerful enough to throw some of the Death Eaters to the floor. The rest looked frantically around, panicked and unsure.

There was a flash of Apparition, then another. And another. Dozens, scores of them. They yielded wizards robed in the black and gold colours of St David. And suddenly there were as many wizards on one side of the Death Eaters' shield ward as there were behind it. They faced off, then one of the newcomers dropped his hood. Hermione gasped in surprise.

It was Prince William. And his brother Harry was right next to him. Both wielded sceptres and the power streaming from them made Hermione's skin tickle. For a moment she just stared at them. Everyone did. It had gone very quiet, like the world was holding a baited breath.

Then, a final flash of Apparition, right at the centre of the stand off.

And Hermione's heart swooped with fierce, unmitigated joy.

"_HARRY_!"

They were saved! She knew it as surely as anything. Harry was standing, legs astride, battle posed. Excalibur shimmered and pulsed in his hand. The power radiating from Harry swept off him like an electric current. Someone fired a spell but Harry let it hit him. He didn't move. The spell might as well have been a grain of sand for all the impact it had. He pulled Excalibur back, then slashed the mighty sword through the air in front if him.

It opened up a gaping chasm in the earth between the two armies, easily thirty feet deep. Some of the Death Eaters on the edge fell into the ravine as it emerged beneath their feet. Harry raised his sword again, the Princes took up flanking positions and raised their sceptres. And together they cast a Shield Wall of their own, one so dense they were able to push it forwards and knock the Death Eaters back with it.

Their counter spells were useless. They didn't even make the barest of impressions. And still Harry advanced, his Acolytes moving with him, right to the sheer wall of the crack Harry had made in the ground. Hermione raced forwards and joined his side, raising her wand and pushing her own magic into the barrier. Harry turned to her.

"The building, on the left. That's where Luna is. Cassie gave you a gift, didn't she?"

Hermione grinned and sprinted over to the cell block tower. There were witches and wizards clambering at the windows, cheering them on. Hermione reached into her robe.

"Stand back!" she yelled. Then she threw the little ball-bearings at the tower wall.

And it exploded right in front of her. Shards of jagged brick and stone were flung high into the air, all falling on the Death Eater's side of the Shield wall, making them scatter and flee. Hermione watched them break rank to avoid the debris. Then witches and wizards came streaming out of the hole in the tower, hurling broken pieces of the prison at their captors, for they had no wands to take up against them.

Hermione scanned the crowd. Her initial plan of searching for Luna's tell-tale dirty blonde hair was shattered immediately. For all the prisoners' heads had been shaved. Hermione searched face after face, and just when she was about to give in to despair, she spotted her.

"Luna! Over here!"

Luna turned, her broken expression cracking into one of relieved happiness. She sprinted to Hermione, hugging her deeply as they met.

"I knew! I knew you'd come for me!"

"I'm so sorry it took so long," said Hermione, gripping her tightly. "Are you okay?"

"No, not really," said Luna. "But I will be now. Look! There's Harry! Doesn't he feel strong?"

Hermione looked over fondly at her...fuck it, she still hadn't given a title to him! Whatever he was, he was hers. And she thrilled at the very thought.

"Yes, he really does," said Hermione. "Come on, lets get you out of here.

They raced across the courtyard. Princes William and Harry were still holding the shield wall along with some of the other Acolytes, while others were firing spells through it at the enemy. Neville, Owain, and a rejuvenated David Pincott were in a circle, casting a misty vortex of energy. Myfanwy helped her girlfriend into it and they vanished.

"Communal apparition portal," Neville explained as Hermione came up to him. "Emergency escape. Hi, Luna. You look like shite! Come on, get yourselves inside."

"I'm not leaving Harry," said Hermione fiercely.

"Harry will be right behind you."

And he was. Turning her bodily and kissing her so ferociously that Hermione lost her mind a little.

"Oh, are you two together now?" asked Luna, her dreamy tone returning. "That's really nice for you."

Harry quirked and eyebrow at her, then turned to Hermione. "Rhian told me...about Malfoy. You okay?"

Hermione nodded. "It was easier than I thought. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, it makes you a Queen. _My Queen_. Now, take Luna back to our castle." He turned to Luna again. "Her daughter is waiting for her."

Luna took one, wide-eyed look at Harry. Then jumped into the vortex.

"Do something for me," said Hermione, watching Luna vanish behind her. "When you're done, burn this place to the ground."

"As you wish...your Highness," Harry grinned.

Hermione stepped forward and kissed Harry again, then leapt into the portal.


	10. Rites of Passage

**Author Note: **Hello to all my wonderful readers! This is just a quick thanks to everyone who is following, has favourite'd and is hopefully enjoying this story so far. I want to apologise...for I am utterly shite at responding to reviews! I'm not a massive fan of the PM system tbh, I'd prefer a more public forum for reader/author interaction. So if I don't respond to you, please don't think its because I'm an arrogant, ungrateful Welsh prick, I'm just lazy! The reviews I have had for this story have been truly humbling, so thank you so much to all of you that have taken time to offer such kind words. I'm sure I don't deserve them.

On that note, I dedicate this chapter to reviewers **tyrannicpuppy** and** acorn8357**. Your reviews honestly take my breath away and I hope this installment hits the right notes for you both.

* * *

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry carefully lowered the last of the earth onto the second mound. He twirled his wand carefully, casting a series of Celtic runes into the two piles of soil either side of him. Some were for protection, others for guidance on a journey into the unknown. He called on the white hounds of Arawn as protectors for the spirits. They came, as a white mist, which swirled and hummed lowly around the mausoleum.

Harry closed his eyes, satisfied that his work was done. His father would take care of the rest.

He stepped away then, pocketing his wand slowly. He edged back, each step considered and respectful, until he was standing behind Hermione. He slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her gently towards him until her back, shuddering from silent tears, was pressed fully into his chest. She slid her hands over his and held on tight, letting her grief consume her. In truth, it was consuming them both. Harry, himself, was struggling to breathe. Just seeing Hermione this inconsolably upset was beyond his breaking point. He vainly fought against tears and softly kissed the top of her head, hoping it might help soothe her.

Harry hadn't expected burying Hermione's parents would be so traumatic for _him._

Hermione turned to him just then, so that they were facing each other. Eyes closed, they pressed their foreheads together, breathing in rhythm. Her hands slid down to hold his waist; he mimicked her actions, his arms encircling and encasing her own. He couldn't protect her from this, but his tight hold would at least tell her she wasn't alone. He knew how much worse it would be if she was.

After all, _he_ had been when he did this for his own parents.

For a moment, they just breathed together, Hermione's wracking sobs dwindling to a steady stream of quiet tears. Harry couldn't stand to see her like this.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked softly.

Hermione sighed. "I knew this would be hard...even though I've known they've been dead for years. I was just numb when Ron told me...when he told me they'd been...when _he _murdered them. But I don't think I processed it then. Its been years, but burying them now...it feels like it happened yesterday."

Hermione whined in anguish again and fresh tears spilt down her cheeks. Harry tightened his grip on her hips.

"I know, I know. It was the same for me."

Hermione pulled her head back, fixing her puffy eyes on his lone one. "It was?"

Harry nodded. "Bringing them here...it was one of the first things I did when took ownership of the place. I couldn't stand the thought of them being exposed to those dark bastards. I was right, too, 'cause when I went to get them from Godric's Hollow, a couple of drunks were at their graves, _pissing_ on them."

"Oh, _Harry" _cried Hermione, aghast. "What did you do?"

"You can imagine I wasn't best pleased," said Harry, evasively. "They were the first bones I broke after my resurrection. I called Rhian immediately and she helped me exhume my parent's remains."

"Then you buried them here?"

Harry nodded again. "The elves dug the plots, I helped carve the headstones. Then I conducted the ceremony by myself. It was like they'd been killed that morning. And, don't forget, in my damaged mind I'd not long seen my mother on the train to the afterlife. It was pretty raw."

Hermione stepped in and hugged Harry fully. "Oh, you poor thing! How you must have suffered. Why were you alone?"

"There was no-one else here," said Harry. "I hadn't found Neville yet, or recruited my inner circle. Enola was around, but I didn't feel comfortable enough with her then to share such a private moment. So it was just me and Lily."

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

"It wasn't your fault," said Harry. "You didn't kill them."

"No, but I should have been here with you," said Hermione, somewhat shrilly. "I gave up on you far too easily. I should have fought harder for you, both when I thought you'd died and at Hogwarts. If we'd been together then, I'd have never left your side the night of the Battle. You'd never have gone to the Forest alone. And I'd not have been stuck with Ron. Its all my fault."

"Dont do that," said Harry firmly. "It didn't happen that way, but regretting it wont change anything. You're no more at fault than I am. We're here now, and its not been perfect, but we've got a lifetime to put it right. That's all that matters."

Hermione hugged Harry as tight as she could manage. He brought his hand up and let it get lost in her bushy hair. He loved this, the gentility of it. In a life that had been so coarse and brutal, this was a refreshing change of pace. One day he'd have to find a way to tell her.

After a minute or so, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry's arms. He felt her go sadly, he'd have liked to have kept her there just a little longer, despite the morbidity of their situation. But he was joyous a moment later, for Hermione had merely shifted to an earlier position, with her back pressed into Harry's chest. She pulled his arms back around her waist and folded her own over them, interlocking their fingers when they fell so perfectly together.

"Thank you, Harry, for doing this."

Harry scoffed. He felt slightly affronted. As if he would have done anything else? He couldn't believe she even felt she had to thank him for such a thing, and told her so quite forcefully.

"I just meant putting them by _your_ mum and dad," Hermione replied, blushing slightly at Harry's suggestion that he would do practically anything for her and she'd never have to thank him for any of it.

"Its where they should be," said Harry, looking at the matching headstones. "They might not think so, though...I doubt they would approve of me."

Hermione cocked her head up at him. "Now why would you think that?"

"Leaving aside the fact that _nobody _would be good enough for you," Harry began, causing Hermione's flush to deepen, "I'm not exactly a wholesome sort of bloke, am I? I'm dangerous, and dangerous to know. I've killed people, and have people trying to kill me. I'm also ugly as fuck. Not the sort to take home to meet the folks, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione chuckled and squeezed Harry's hands with her own. "First off, if it wasn't for the scar you'd be gorgeous. Even _with it_, most witches would happily bang your brains out. Because your face is only a piece of your beauty. Its in your heart and courage and kindness where you are truly beautiful. And then there's your magic, which reduces everyone to gibbering wrecks because its so sexually potent. What's not to love about that?"

Harry laughed. "I'm sure sexual potency isn't something to mention in front of the future in-laws!"

"No, perhaps not," Hermione agreed. "Especially as you haven't mentioned it in front of your future wife yet. Or demonstrated it. I'm on the verge of getting very impatient with you, Harry."

"I know," Harry chuckled again, squeezing her a little. "I was waiting until I could put a ring of some sort on your finger, but that doesn't seem to be in the near future, as I don't think we will be ridding the world of your truly Wedded Lord any day soon."

"Fuck you, Harry. Don't call _him_ that!"

"I'm just teasing."

"I know. But I hate it...really _fucking_ hate it! Every single bit of it."

"I'm sorry. I know how much it bothers you," said Harry.

"Bothers me? _Bothers me?_ That doesn't even come _close_ to describing it!" Hermione cried. "Apart from abusing me, and cursing me in my sleep, and creating a connection that allows him to break into my mind at will, he's also stopping me getting engaged to you. And now you say this is why you wont sleep with me? So he's cockblocking me, too! I'm literally going to rip him apart when I get my hands on him. I wont even use magic...my pure hatred will be more than enough."

Harry laughed aloud. "I love you, you know?"

Hermione shifted in his arms. Harry knew it was the effect of his words as they coursed through her. He could feel her energies change, soften, and reach out to entwine with his own. She thrilled at him saying what he did. Harry found it hard to quite wrap his head around that, but the effect was right in front of him, surging and pulsing around them. It was like being in a shroud of delicious emotion that kept the rest of the world, and all its darkness, at arms length.

"I love you, too."

Now it was Harry's turn to be dizzied by a declaration. He knew it, felt it on so many levels, but still found it hard to believe or accept. It was only when Hermione spoke the words, laced with such intense sincerity, that Harry truly allowed himself to hope that they were true. That he was actually _loved _by someone. That it wasn't a mistake, or a burst of empathy for someone else. Someone normal, someone who was used to love._ He_ was loved, and not just by anyone, but by the girl for whom his entire world span.

It was almost too much. It threatened tears just thinking about it.

Hermione seemed to sense the rise in Harry's emotion. She smoothed his fingers softly, and pressed back into him, while her own energy billowed out and coated his own. Harry felt it with a breathtaking shock; it was as if he were being caressed on his very soul. Where had she learned to do _this_? It was ritual-level intimacy, out in the open world. Harry tried to speak, to do something, _anything_ to articulate the sensation.

But Hermione was ready for him. "Sssh, don't speak," she said breathily, sultrily. "Just feel me. Inside and out. I love you, Harry, but if you wont _make love_ to me yet, you wont deny me this. Lets be as close as we can."

Harry closed his eyes and got lost in the swell of emotion. It was as if Hermione's magic was pulsating inside him, taking the floor from beneath his feet. And it was such a sweet fall. Harry could have happily stayed here forever, but he had to correct her on something.

"I will make love to you," he whispered into her hair. "And soon."

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," said Hermione. "You said we weren't going to commit husband-icide any time in the near future. So don't tease."

"I'm not teasing," said Harry. "I understand you intend to be inducted into the Order of Acolytes."

Hermione huffed. "Seriously, Enola can't keep any secrets, can she?"

"No, she's rubbish at that," Harry laughed. "But she's not the guilty party this time. I went to see Narcissa, to tell her about Draco's demise. I thought I ought to do it in person. She told me about your request."

Hermione stiffened in Harry's arms. "Oh dear. Did you tell her I was the one who killed him?"

"I had to."

"Fuck. There's no way she will conduct the ritual then, is there? She won't induct me after I killed her only son."

Harry tightened his grip soothingly. "You needn't worry. Narcissa was upset, obviously. Draco's still her son. But, in her mind, he died the day he allowed Riddle to split his soul and splice him with an animal. She will still conduct the ritual. She told me as its protocol. I have to approve all applicants before they join."

"And do you approve of me?"

"Well, I had to think a lot about it," said Harry, seriously. "Just to be sure, you know?"

Hermione swatted playfully at his arm. "Harry."

"Of course I approve of you," said Harry. "If you're good enough for my mum, who am I to argue?"

Hermione snuggled back into Harry's chest.

"But that's why I'm working on _another_ ritual...one we can do the night of your induction. If you're willing, of course."

Hermione turned her head and looked up at Harry. There was something in his tone that had stirred in her. Her eyes were on fire.

"Does it involve sex?" she asked, unmistakable hope in her voice. "Please tell me its a sex ritual...that you're going to do ritual sex magic on me...pretty please?"

Harry laughed out loud. "What the actual fuck, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked, bashfully. "I'm getting a bit wet just at the suggestion. I know that's what it is. I can feel it in your magic. Its making me really antsy. Please say I'm right. Its _ages_ since I've had something to look forward to. And I wont be able to sleep if _this_ is on the horizon. I'll be too excited."

"Then maybe I should reconsider."

"No you bloody wont!" Hermione shrieked. "So, it is a sex ritual?"

Harry sighed. "Yes...yes it is."

Hermione _actually _squealed. "Oh my Merlin! Is it my birthday or...or Christmas? On the same day? What's the ritual, then?"

"I'm still working on it," said Harry, before adding sheepishly. "Don't forget...I've never done anything like this before. This is new magic to me. I mean, its all new to me, isn't it?...but if I turn out to be a crap shag, at least the magic will make up for it. That bit I can get right, at least."

Hermione turned to face Harry. Then kissed him powerfully on the mouth.

"You will _not_ be a crap shag," she said as they finally broke apart. "We'll practise as often as possible until we make it perfect. We will be the best shag _for each other_. Merlin, Harry, we are going to make the most _explosive_ love ever!"

Harry grinned. "I can do that. Probably. Anyway, I have to get the space just right. You've seen what my emotions do to the house as it is. I have to prepare the ritual space to absorb a whole other level of passion."

"We're going to have our first time together in the ritual chamber?" asked Hermione, questioningly. "Wont it be a bit uncomfortable?"

"It would be," Harry agreed. "But I'm actually in the process of converting my bedroom for the ritual. After all, it will be _our_ bedroom when we are done. It will have to be able to withstand whatever we throw at it."

"Sweet baby Merlin!" Hermione swooned dreamily.

"But, in any case, the ritual I'm designing isn't just about sex, that's merely the sealant," Harry went on.

"And what will we be sealing?"

"Our promises to one another," said Harry. "Once you become an Acolyte you can be formally nominated as my consort. The protocol of the Knights demands that. Then we can ritually seal it. It will be like a betrothal. The sex ritual will be the declaration of us giving to each other wholly. Its a permanent bond, one not to be taken wantonly."

"The only thing that will be taken wantonly will be _you!"_ said Hermione breathlessly. "Is this what Enola and Neville did?"

"Yep," said Harry. "And I made them abstain for a month in advance."

"Was that necessary?" Hermione quirked at Harry's mischievous tone.

"No, not at all, but it was funny," said Harry playfully. "They were walking around like wound-up teenagers. By the last week I almost gave in. But I paid for it later."

"Why?"

"Because the intensity of their love-making on the wedding night was so ferocious it caused a minor earthquake on the grounds," said Harry, chortling at the memory. "The problem was that, at the time, their suite was above The Warrens - that's where all the elves live - and the babies were so scared they had to stay in my room for a month, where my magic made them feel safe. I had to babysit ten little elves until they were happy enough to return to their homes."

Hermione laughed. "Was Sally one of them?"

"Sally was my favourite," said Harry. "She was one of the oldest, and helped with the others."

Hermione's expression paled. "She almost died for me, Harry. She shouldn't have come to help me. I don't know if she'll accept my thanks."

"Its not thanks the elves are after," said Harry. "Its love and respect. In their culture, there is nothing more important than family. Being part of one, and contributing positively to it. Its almost like a warrior code. I know you always saw them as slaves to be freed, but that's not quite right. They take on tasks because being a respected member of the family - and helping others _brings_ that respect - is as high-status as it gets for them."

Hermione considered that a moment. "And, I suppose, if they can help witches and wizards they see as important, it garners yet more respect from their peers."

"Exactly. Which was why Sally was so excited when I assigned her to you."

"To _your most favouritest witch_," Hermione parroted with a shy smile.

"I never made much of a secret of that, did I?" Harry replied.

"No, but its very adorable that you didn't," said Hermione. "Poor Sally. Do you think she will be okay?"

"I've no doubt," said Harry. "Elves are remarkable creatures. Very resilient, too. And Sally is very taken with you. I think she sees you as a big sister-type. Going to your aid wasn't even a question in her mind. She's quite possessive of you. She'll recover just fine."

"But you couldn't save her arm?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Sadly, no. These Dark Curses carry such evil intent, Hermione. You aren't supposed to survive them. And when you _do, _it comes at a cost. I'm living proof of that."

Harry waved his hand blithely at his ruined face.

"Is that what that is? Why you can't heal it?" asked Hermione, frowning.

"Yeah," said Harry, nodding and scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Tom Riddle's acidic evil swims around in that lovely scar of mine. It resists any attempt to heal it. Remember, there's no block for Avada Kedavra. The same malevolence which would have killed anyone else, has left me wrecked and forever tainted."

"Let me see."

"You've already seen," said Harry. Hermione's bossy turn of tone had make him oddly nervous.

"I want to have a proper look. I want to see this evil."

"Why?"

Hermione huffed at him. "Because, if evil _did_ this to you, then I'm going to find a way to use my love to fucking _undo_ it."

Harry sucked in a rapid breath, startled at Hermione's sudden ferocity. "I...I'm not sure that's how it works, Hermione."

"Well, of course it is," said Hermione confidently. "Everything has an opposite, Harry. If these evil curses exist, there must be a way to counteract them with comparable-level goodness."

Harry pondered that a moment. "If that was true, surely somebody would have worked it out before now."

"Not necessarily," said Hermione fairly. "I mean...until you, _nobody_ had survived Avada Kedavra. There wasn't anything to study, to test. But now, we have you. And me. And I'm pretty clever."

"Pretty _and_ clever," Harry corrected with a wink.

"Harry..." Hermione blushed. "What I mean is, if anyone can work this out, it will be us. We don't often fail in things we tackle together, do we?"

"Its not a habit of ours, I'll give you that."

"And I swear to Merlin that I wont be bested by Tom Riddle's evil," said Hermione staunchly. "Its a case of my love versus his hate at this point. I know which one will win out, which one is stronger."

Harry just stared at her a moment. His heart thundered beneath his ribs. "Hermione - that's...that's what my parents said...when _they_ were protecting me from Riddle."

Hermione moved her hands up to cup Harry's head in her palms. She understood the sudden, humble turn of his emotion, and moved to soothe his anxiety. "Then I'm in exalted company, aren't I?" she breathed softly.

Did she really mean all this, all these things she was saying and suggesting? Harry could scarce believe it. He tried to say something, made several false starts on sentences he simply couldn't form. Hermione watched him struggle with a little smile, so adoringly cute that Harry physically ached at the sight. So he took to just looking at her, pushed his emotion out with all he had, hoping it would communicate just some of the million things we wanted to say, but just couldn't get out of his strangled throat.

It seemed to work.

"I know, I know," Hermione whispered to him gently. "So...let me see your scar."

Harry tensed. "Not today. Please. Its been a few days since it was cleaned. It's even more unpleasant than normal just now. I'm waiting for Enola to be done looking after Angharad, then she can clean me up."

"Enola cleans your scar?"

"She's the only one who does," said Harry. "She's very precise and careful. It still hurts like hell, but after years of doing it she knows to be gentle."

"Harry...that should be my job now," said Hermione. "If I get Ennie to teach me how, will you let me do that for you?"

"Hermione...its me at my most disgusting. I really don't want you to see that."

"And I really don't care about your silly pride!" Hermione scoffed. "If you'll show Enola, you'll show me. I can accept that you let her so close before, but now only _I_ get to be so intimate with you. This isn't up for debate. I've decided. I'm going to learn Ennie's healing and then your care belongs to me."

Harry sighed. "You're so bossy. I shouldn't let it turn me on so much. Or your academic curiosity. It makes you so passionate. I've always loved how it stirs your fervour. You're really not playing fair combining them like this."

Hermione laughed. "At least I know how to dominate you. I'm making a list, you know."

"Sweet Merlin," Harry crowed. "I'm in so much trouble with you."

"Yes, you are," Hermione agreed. "But its the same for me, so don't fret about it. Come on, lets go and see Ennie."

"I think we should wait for her," said Harry. "Angharad's wounds require really delicate attention. You should know - the Dolohov Hex is something you're intimately familiar with."

"Fucking hell...is _that_ what she was hit with?" asked Hermione, aghast.

Harry nodded. "It left a purple scorch scar on her chest. It would have killed her without the runes on her robe. Myfanwy is borderline mental over it. Poor girl. I might have to take her into ritual to ease her mind."

"Can I help?"

Harry pierced her with a shrewd stare. "Not with the ritual. Its better for it to be a one-on-one thing. Not that I think Fan will agree willingly. She's stubborn as an ox. But you could help with the spell deconstruction."

"How?"

"The runes on Ann's robe will still have the residue of the hex in them," Harry explained. "We can draw it out and try to understand its composition, what its intended to do. You were hit with it, we can draw your memory to study the after effects. If you're willing, of course."

Hermione bit her lip shyly. "You want to see my memories of the time after...after the fight at the Department of Mysteries?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, no...its just that," Hermione began awkwardly. Then her words tailed off and she looked away.

"What is it?" Harry asked cautiously. He'd hit a nerve it would seem. "Is there something about that time you don't want me to see? I don't remember anything that you might want to keep from me. But, to be fair, I was distraught about Sirius. I wasn't at my most perceptive."

"It's silly, really," said Hermione shyly. "It's just that...after that night at the Ministry, when I nearly died, I had to look my feelings for you in the face properly for the first time. I'd been avoiding it for a good couple of years. But that year, it was getting harder and harder to. Especially as you'd starting noticing other girls. I _really_ didn't like that, but what did it mean? Then I almost died for you, I had to rationalise that in my mind. And try to understand why I knew that I'd do it again without question. It was a scary few days for me."

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I never knew...never thought..."

"Oh, Harry, don't be daft," said Hermione hotly. "You'd just seen your only loving relative die. Your mind was miles away. My selfish, adolescent concern about what I might feel for you was rightly amongst the last things on it."

"Hippogriff shit!" Harry countered. "If I had known _that_ maybe I could have sought some comfort from the closest person to family I still had. The girl I intend to _make a family_ with now. I was in a pretty bleak place myself, with only another stay at Privet Drive on the horizon."

"Would that have helped, do you think?" asked Hermione quietly. "To have me around?"

Harry shook his head in wonder at her. "How can you even ask that? You have no idea, do you? Not even the faintest clue of the _peace_ you bring me? Just having you near me...it makes me feel...well, all sorts of things. You stir me in so many ways. Right now, a lot of them need to be dark and violent. But when its all over, I'm just going to bask in you, the way you _calm_ me. If I'd had you to lean on the Summer after Sirius...well, maybe I would have coped with his loss a little better. I wouldn't have had to face that misery alone. But why don't you want me to see what you were _actually_ doing?"

Hermione bit down on her lip again. "Because it was that Summer that I decided to pull away from you. I don't know if I convinced myself that you wouldn't return my feelings...or if I was afraid of what it would mean if you _did_. Both outcomes were equally terrifying. My solution was to distance myself from you. I don't know...I suppose I just don't want you to see a version of me where I was _actively_ trying not to love you."

Harry grinned at her. "Ah, I see. You just don't want me to see you _failing at something_."

Hermione flushed and flapped her mouth open and closed a few times. "Well, that's not what I...but I suppose I did fail at it, didn't I?"

"And I'm very happy that you did," said Harry. "It's not often that I like to see you fail, but in this case you were spectacularly crap!"

"Harry!" Hermione admonished good-naturedly. "Okay, fine. I'll let you draw my memory. How long will that take to set up?"

"A few hours," said Harry. "Lord Kelvin and Enola's mum are prepping the chamber as we speak. They are the two most proficient runic masters I have at my disposal. In the meantime, we should go and see Luna. And her daughter. You owe little Celesca a 'thank you' hug."

"I do? For what?"

"She helped me locate your parents remains," Harry explained. His expression darkened. "There were _hundreds_ of skeletons in that grave, Hermione. Just piled there like rubble. Celesca helped me find the right ones. She's a Seer, fabulously gifted, too. She said your parents helped _guide _her to their bones."

Hermione gasped. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I came right here to bury them," said Harry apologetically. "There wasn't a right time..."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, quickly. "I didn't mean to snap. Its an amazing thing you've done for me. I didn't really believe you'd even find them."

"To be honest, if it wasn't for Celesca I don't think I would have," said Harry. "She helped guide their spirits back here, too. They had just been wandering since...well, since it happened. The Death Eaters didn't conduct any sort of burial rite."

Hermione ground her jaw angrily. "That pack of cunts! I'll avenge you Mum, Dad...I swear it on the lives of mine and Harry's unborn children. On your _grandchildren_. I'm sorry...for not being strong enough to keep you safe."

"Hermione," said Harry, taking her hand. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I could've, Harry," said Hermione, wiping away angry tears with her free hand, whilst maintaining a death grip on Harry's with the other. "I could have resisted Ron. Seen through him. He offered to find them, you see. Use his connections, as he was on the rise in the world. I still believed he was pretending to be part of the New Order then. He offered to find them as a...as a wedding gift. I didn't think he just wanted to present them to the Death Eaters...as a mark of his fealty to Voldemort."

Acidic anger stirred in Harry's gut. He felt Hermione's own ire reach out to his for companionship. He let them mingle awhile, then he pressed his hand to her chest. Her furious heart was thundering beneath her ribs. Harry willed it to slow, forced calm into her. Hermione allowed it, taking a steadying breath as she settled. She nodded as she became mistress of herself again, and Harry drew away.

"Store it," he whispered quietly. "And when the time comes, let it out to flay him."

"I will," said Hermione. "Thank you, Harry. For everything."

"I haven't given you everything...yet," said Harry. "But I will. Come on, we have a little girl who we owe thanks to."

Harry curled his arm into Hermione's, gave it a comforting squeeze, then guided her towards the house.

* * *

Hermione ended up going visit Luna alone. For no sooner had she and Harry re-entered the palace than he was being whisked away for some urgent business. Secret, too, it would seem, for Neville, who was responsible for the whisking, gave her a stare that told her quite clearly that she wasn't welcome. She huffed at that, knowing full well it would likely involve some new danger for Harry to face, and that she wouldn't be allowed to know about it, in case she tried to talk him out of his habit of recklessly diving into the fire.

But she knew better than to argue. She trusted Harry, trusted that he was aware enough of how she might react that he would include her in any decisions he might make. She practically expected it now. They were partners in every other way, so Hermione saw no reason why they wouldn't become equals in this, too. She might not have Harry's tactical nous or battle skill, but she was rational and logical. These were attributes she could bring to the table.

But, for now, she was content to leave Harry to it. She had her own tasks to focus on. So they parted in the courtyard of the house, Harry went one way with Neville, while Hermione took the Main Staircase and quested for Luna's suite. It was on the third floor, and Hermione knocked on the door once before letting herself in. After all, it was _her_ house, she could go wherever she liked.

She opened the door and eased her way inside. Luna welcomed her cheerily, but she wasn't alone. Susan Bones was also there, sat opposite Luna on the hearthrug between two cosy sofas at the heart of the room. She smiled as Hermione entered.

"Come and join us, Min. We were just talking about you."

"Only good things, I hope," Hermione quirked as she lowered herself down onto the rug. She helped herself to tea from a platter set there.

"Sue was just telling me all about Harry," Luna explained. "Its all amazing, really, isn't it? He died, but didn't die. Now you and him are together. Its all so strange. Who would have guessed any of that two months ago at Harry's Deathday Party, eh?"

Hermione shifted awkwardly on the floor. "Please don't call it that, Luna. I've only just about gotten used to having Harry back...I don't like the idea of him being dead again."

"I can understand that. None of us like to think of the people we love being dead," said Luna conversationally. "Have you seen his face, though? I'd really like to. Is it as bad as I've been told?"

"Harry thinks so," said Hermione. "But I've gotten used to it. I don't really see it at all anymore. It isn't a pretty sight, but I'm thrilled to have Harry alive _with it_, rather than being dead without it."

Luna nodded sagely. "And you look really well, Hermione. I could always tell you were hurting, in pain. Even though you wouldn't say it. But now, you seem back to your old self. Sex must be doing you wonders."

Hermione flushed. "Harry and I haven't gotten that far yet."

Susan snorted. "A likely story! No woman would walk around as dreamily as you do if they weren't getting royally seen to every night. Well, apart from Lu here. And as Harry is the descendent of King Arthur, then the _royally_ part of it is quite literal!"

"Sue!" Hermione admonished.

"Is Harry really descended from King Arthur?" asked Luna, her eyes wide.

Hermione nodded her confirmation. "And Merlin, himself."

"Wow," said Luna. "No wonder he can't die. Poor Harry."

"_Poor Harry?" _asked Hermione, perplexed.

"Well, if he cant die, he's going to be all alone one day, isn't he?" said Luna easily. "He'll have to watch everyone he loves die. I don't think he'd like that. I wouldn't."

Hermione's jaw dropped in horror, her heart drumming furiously. Was that true? Or was it just another of Luna's whims?

"I don't think that's right," said Hermione, hoping to convince herself. "Harry just can't be killed by Voldemort."

"But if someone that powerful can't kill him, who could?" asked Luna. "Harry might be immune to Death himself. I think that's why I was sent to work on the Veil. It leads to the world after death...but no-one knows where. It must be a bad place, because witches and wizards used to be executed by being sent through. I cant imagine it would be a nice place to spend eternity, if it was a punishment. But it might be the only way for Harry to enter the afterlife."

"How do you know that you were sent to study the Veil?" asked Sue. Hermione was simply trembling at the horrendous concepts skating through her mind.

"Neville told me," said Luna. "Ernie MacMillan was my boss, and he used to pass my reports to Neville. But now he's dead, I've had to talk to Neville directly. I haven't learned much new, though, since Ernie was killed. I was one of the first arrested after Harry's supporters were rounded up. It wasn't a nice time. I was just telling Sue when you came in, Hermione, about how much I don't like being raped."

Hermione gasped, anguish and pity pouring out of her again. She knew what had happened to Luna, of course she did. That surge of Harry's anger when he pulled the residual memory from her bedroom in Glastonbury...it still resonated in Hermione's head now. But to have Luna discuss it so casually...it was all sorts of wrong.

"How many times _have_ you been raped, Lu?" asked Sue. "You were about to tell me."

"Only three times," said Luna, simply, as though she were discussing how many times she'd been drunk. "Its nowhere near as much as you two. But the last couple were only in the last month, and there were several wizards who did it at the same time. Its what they always seem to do to me, every time I get taken in for something. And they always hurt me really badly. Its the most horrible thing, really."

"_Oh, Luna!_" Hermione cried, scooting over and enveloping her in a hug. Susan quickly followed suit. "You poor thing!"

"All wizards are bastards, I've decided that," said Susan, as they broke apart. "Touting their cocks like weapons. Fucking bastards."

"Not all wizards are bad," said Hermione. "Just most of the ones we've met."

"Just because you're sleeping with one of the few good ones, don't defend the rest!" cried Susan.

"For the last time, I'm not sleeping with Harry!"

"Yet," said Susan, coyly.

"I would be by now, if I were you" said Luna thoughtfully. "I always thought you were back at school, too."

Hermione's jaw dropped open in startled shock. "You did? Why?"

"Well, its not usual for a boy and a girl to be as close as you two were and there_ not_ be something going on," said Luna. "I know Ron was your friend, too, but _everyone_ could tell you and Harry were closer."

"That's why no-one was surprised by those articles about the pair of you, during the Triwazard Tournament, remember?" Sue added. "It was only a surprise that you didn't come out and confirm it. We had a wager in Hufflepuff on when we'd first see you two sucking each other's faces off around the corridors. I might still be eligible to win the pot, actually, seeing as it was never claimed."

"I'd get in touch with Gringotts right away," said Hermione sardonically.

"But you spent all those months together in that tent," said Luna. "You _must_ have slept together then? Especially when Ron abandoned you?"

Hermione felt a bitter anger swill in her at the memory. Luna was right, Ron _had_ abandoned them. And the way she just spelled it out was stark and jarring. Hermione had forgotten it. She recalled it now, and despised the ginger tosser even more. And why _hadn't_ she slept with Harry when they were all alone? Even just for a bit of comfort, to feel something other than fear and agony, and the ache of hunger? It was just another episode for Hermione to regret where Harry was concerned.

"Harry and I will sleep together eventually," Hermione replied. "Its just complicated for us both. Harry has an aversion to being touched, but I'm getting through that barrier slowly. And after four years of being smacked around by Ron, I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to have another man's hands on me."

"Until Harry swept you off your feet with his magic, and now you can't wait for him to sweep your knickers off, too," said Sue.

"Something like that," said Hermione, grinning shyly. "But - and trust me on this - you will _know_ when it happens. I'm a little afraid of what it will do to the house, actually."

"The Earth will literally move!" Susan laughed. Hermione joined in.

"That will be nice for you," said Luna. "You deserve to be happy. We all do."

"Are you happy, Lu?" asked Susan. "You've been through hell lately."

"I'm not okay," said Luna frankly. "But I have my daughter. I honestly thought she'd be dead. I can hardly believe she survived. I have to be okay for her."

"I actually came here to see her," said Hermione. "To say thank you for her helping Harry to find my parents. Can I?"

Luna shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but Celesca's not up for seeing visitors just yet. She likes Harry. He makes her feel safe, so she was happy to help him. But she's been through a terrible ordeal herself. She needs time to cope with what she saw."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "You will tell her how grateful I am?"

"Of course I will," said Luna brightly.

"Lu...I have to ask," said Susan, somewhat cautiously. "But how in the world did you keep that from us? A kid? When did it even happen?"

Hermione's attention caught. This was a question she'd been dying to ask, but it seemed wrong to pry.

"I had to keep it a secret," said Luna. "To keep her safe. They'd have taken her away if they found out...who her father was."

"But who _is_ her father?" Susan pressed. "You managed to escape a forced marriage because you're a Pureblood. But I've never known you to have a boyfriend for very long, let alone someone to have a kid with. And she must be...what...five? Six?"

Luna closed her eyes and sighed. The memory clearly wasn't a happy one. Hermione's pulse thrummed in her neck. She almost didn't want to know, didn't want Luna to partake in what was obviously going to be a painful confession.

"She's only just five," said Luna. "And I got pregnant the first time I was...that I was raped."

Hermione's heart bled. But then Luna looked straight at her. It was a pointed stare that Hermione struggled to read.

"Do you remember, Hermione, when you were off in the tent with Harry? Hunting for pieces of Voldemort? The Snatchers came for me. Dragged me from my Daddy's arms. Took me to Malfoy Manor. Then they started hurting me, and the others that were there. They wanted me to tell them something I didn't know - stuff about Harry. Where he was, what he was doing. I couldn't tell them because I didn't know. But I don't think I would have even if I had. I like Harry a lot, I wouldn't have wanted to make trouble for him.

"But I could never quite understand that. They kept hurting me, because I couldn't tell them what they wanted. Then they came up with this new idea, thinking it might work. They made Draco do it. I think they were punishing him a bit because he really didn't want to. Not because of anything noble, he just didn't like me. It was an act to shame him. They had to give him a special potion so he could do it. And he did. A few times. It hurt a lot, but I still couldn't tell them anything. Then you and Harry and Ron turned up and that poor little elf saved us."

Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks by the time Luna came to the end of her story. She just wanted to hug her, but there was that _something_ in her look. It made Hermione feel at fault, somehow _responsible_ for it.

"Lu...that's so awful," said Susan, squeezing her arm. "And so you had to bear Draco Malfoy's spawn! Why didn't you just get rid of it?"

"I was five months gone by the time I even knew," said Luna. "I was never sick, and I didn't really show much of a bump until the end. I know Draco was cruel and evil but the baby growing in me didn't know that. It wasn't her fault. I couldn't punish her by denying her life. Besides, half of her was from _me_, and I'm quite nice, I think."

"You're more than nice!" Hermione sobbed. "You're lovely! You don't deserve any of what's happened to you."

"Aww, thank you, Hermione," Luna beamed. "I know we were never as close as the others, but I've always liked you. Harry always spoke really highly of you, and that should be a good enough endorsement for anyone."

Hermione could resist no longer. She reached over and grabbed Luna into a fierce bear hug that nearly sucked the life out of her. Luna returned her embrace and patted her back, as if _she_ were the one in need of consoling. It was a good few minutes before they separated. Hermione looked over at Susan, who was bothering the thread of the hearthrug awkwardly. Hermione swore under her breath...she had to steer the conversation away from this touchy, potentially incendiary subject.

"So who were those two people your daughter was with at Glastonbury?" Hermione asked.

"Venusia was my cousin," said Luna. "She and her husband, Clive, ran a small trinket shop in Glastonbury High Street. They sold keepsakes for the Muggles and proper magic stuff for everyone else. Vennie ran the shop and Clive made dream-catchers and pretty little gift boxes for the trinkets and things. They were good people, never hurt anyone. They didn't deserve what happened to them.

"They were the ones who got me into a Muggle hospital to give birth. I knew Cesc would be in danger the moment she was born, so I didn't want her on the St Mungo's register. And she couldn't stay with me. Vennie and Clive lived nearby so they took her, but I could always see her whenever I wanted."

"When did you tell her you were her real mum?" asked Susan.

"She always knew," said Luna. "She is really perceptive. I think she knew what we were doing was for her own good, but one day she accidentally called me 'Mummy'. I remember her thinking she was going to get told off for breaking the rules of 'the game' we were playing. She was so frightened, but I just gave her a hug and it was alright.

"And I was so happy the truth was out, even just between us. It was the first time I felt like a Mum. I'm a bit scared of it, actually. Venusia was more of a mother to her than me; I don't know if she will like being with me full-time. I don't know if I'll be any good at it."

"Of course you will be," said Hermione confidently. "And you'll have us to help, wont she, Sue?"

Hermione looked over at Susan, who shrugged awkwardly and offered a half-smile by way of agreement.

"I'm so glad of that!" Luna exclaimed happily. "I wont be half so frightened if I have my friends around me."

"We aren't going anywhere," said Hermione firmly. "And once you meet the other girls you'll soon feel part of the family."

"I'd like that," said Luna. "I haven't been part of a family for such a long time. I miss it."

"Well come on, lets start now then," said Hermione jumping up. "Neville's wife is doing some healing work on one of the girls who got injured at Hengest. But her girlfriend, Myfanwy, is nice, or Cassie over in the potions lab. Actually, lets go and see her. I need to ask to borrow her lab."

"Yeah, lets go to Cassie," said Susan, joining Hermione on her feet. "She's a hoot. You'll like her a lot, Luna."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at Susan, her mind dwelling on a new possibility there, but she didn't linger on the thought. She helped Luna to her feet and linked arms as they left the room, determined to be a better friend from now on. Harry would certainly approve, and that was incentive enough.

* * *

Harry, himself, was deeply angry. He was angry because he was suspicious, and suspicion always fuelled the rage constantly swirling just below his surface. But more than that, he was angry at _being_ angry. The destruction of the camp at Hengest had been a thing of beauty; there was artistry in Harry's demolition of it. And freeing the wretched souls imprisoned there had been a such an uplifting experience...Harry had actually allowed himself to enjoy the role of Great Liberator that they were all bestowing on him.

But now he was back to being angry again.

Because whatever Neville was about to say to him was bound to be infuriating. It was also bound to be negatively slanted towards Hermione. Neville would never have dismissed her so pointedly if it wasn't. He was about to tell Harry something he thought Hermione ought not to know. It was pretty naive of Neville. For, whatever it was, the first thing Harry intended to do was tell Hermione all about it.

He had decided never to keep secrets from her again.

But he had to learn what this new devilry was first. Neville was in a hurry, and Harry had to practically jog to keep up with him. And he wouldn't answer Harry's repeated queries as to where they were going and what was happening. This thing, it seemed, was something Harry had to see for himself.

And what this suggested simply made him even angrier.

Neville paused at the door to a room two floors below the surface. It was near the Resonator Stone at the very center of the palace. It was here that the ley lines converged, where the wards at the boundary of the grounds drew and renewed their energy. It was also where Harry could tap into the natural energy of magic that criss-crossed Great Britain like a giant, super-charged spiders web.

Neville drew his wand and traced out the access rune to open the door. Only he and Harry knew the correct ancient symbol. Harry made a note to show Hermione what it was, before following Neville inside. The room was gloomy, curved in shape with only one piece of furnishing - a table shaped a little like a boomerang. Twelve milky orbs about the size of footballs, glowing with their own light, lined the table. They emitted a barely-audible hum that infused the room with a weird, sonic charge.

"Nev?" Harry queried as he shut the door. "What's going on?"

"We had an alarm trigger at the ward boundary," said Neville, joining Harry near the line of orbs. "I sent a team to investigate. What they found was worrying."

"Go on."

"It wasn't a physical intrusion," said Neville. "It was magical. Someone was testing the boundary."

"Attacking it?" asked Harry, confused and angry. He would have felt any assault on the ward shield. His magic was tied to it.

"No, it wasn't attacking," said Neville. "The spells were exploratory. The caster moved along the perimeter, from one rune stone to the next. Harry...we think someone is _mapping_ the border."

Harry swore violently. "How is that possible? They shouldn't be able to know where we are."

Neville gulped. He didn't seem to want to say this. "There's only one, real way. We must have taken someone in...someone they are tracking."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. His breath came in angry rasps.

"They can't pinpoint us directly," said Neville, continuing bravely in the face of Harry's furious air, which was flowing out of him in dense waves. "But if they can get a general idea of location, they can test the resistance to their magic and effectively draw the outline of our boundary. Then we are vulnerable."

"They'll never breach the wards," said Harry firmly.

"No, but there are other ways to attack us," said Neville quickly. "We know they've been experimenting with weather modification, with tapping into geological faults. We aren't immune to them."

"So what, you want me to send Hermione away?" Harry spat angrily. "So they cant use Ron's connection to her to find us. Is that what you're saying?"

"No, don't be so bloody stupid!" said Neville. "But there's a reality here that you don't seem to want to confront. And, before you jump down my throat again, this is _Hermione's_ suggestion, not just mine."

Harry huffed calm into himself. He had to stop lashing out. "Sorry. I'm just pissed. Can't even enjoy a victory for five minutes it seems. What are you talking about anyway? What's Hermione suggesting?"

"Several things, but the main one is that this link Ron has to her has all the potential needed to be followed right to us. Or close enough. This is just proof of it. What_ I'm_ saying is that whoever is surveying us is nearly a third of the way around. We need to find them and stop them."

Harry took several deep, steadying breaths. Then his eyes shot open in understanding. "Wait...are they here _now?_"

Neville nodded. "You need to use the Stones, brother."

Harry wasted no time. He span away from Neville and cast his hand over the stones, quietening his mind as he did so. He found it surprisingly easy, considering his fury. It seemed that identifying threats to Hermione was actually a powerful way to focus his thoughts.

"There!" Neville cried suddenly.

Harry looked to his left. One of the orbs had lost its milky colour. Instead, it was a swirling mass of blurry images. Harry swept to it and drew his wand. He cast a silent spell at the stone, and a three-dimension image shot out in front of them. It showed a tall, wiry man, crawling on his haunches. His wand was out and casting deft little spells at an unseen target, that Harry knew was his ward boundary. He felt them now, since he had become so re-attuned to the energies of the palace. He looked at the wizard again. At his bespectacled face and coppery red hair.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me!" Neville exclaimed. "That's Percy twatting Weasley!"

Harry frowned. "I never did know his middle name."

Neville guffawed. "Are they actually thick, sending a Weasley here?"

"It makes sense, Nev," said Harry. "Those tracking spells Ron hit Hermione with...they are replete in the Weasley signature. Ron probably just told old Perce the frequency to look out for."

"Wait...would that mean _any_ Weasley could tap into the connection?"

"Probably not tap in, but they could at least sense it with the right locator spell."

"Cunts," said Neville angrily. "That means Min isn't safe as long as there is a Weasley about to give her away."

"Pretty much," said Harry bitterly. "Have you started calling her _Min_, too? I can never tell if she likes that."

"I've just picked up the habit from Enola," said Neville. "I suppose I should have asked."

"I don't think I could get used to it," said Harry. He tried it out a few times. "Min...Min...Minny...hmmm, I don't know."

Neville smirked. "You just want to call her _Mrs Potter_, or Lady Potter, or whatever."

"Now _that_ I could get used to!"

"What the fuck are we talking about?!" cried Neville. "Harry...you realise we might have to erase the _entire_ Weasley clan from the face of the Earth to keep our women safe?"

"Doesn't seem such a hardship," said Harry. "They always were a fucking disgrace to to the pantheon of Ancient and Noble Houses. Bunch of fucking gypsies. They were a shame to the title. We'd be doing the world a service."

"Then lets start now," said Neville. "Feel up to a spot of Weasley-hunting?"

"Lead on, Lord Longbottom," said Harry. "But I have to get Hermione. She will help us find Percy more quickly. Rhian!"

The Head Elf popped next to Harry as he walked along the corridor. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"How's Sally?" Harry asked as Rhian hurried along beside him.

"Resting, Master Harry," the elf replied sadly. "She be up and about in a few days. Does Mistress Hermione need something?"

"No, but you make sure Sally stays resting until I say otherwise," said Harry. "No, Mistress Hermione doesn't need anything. But I need _her_. Lord Longbottom and I are heading to the North Causeway. Can you bring Hermione to me there, please?"

"Does she need battle dress?" asked Rhian.

"Oh no, there'll be no need for that," said Harry. "But she will need her wand."

"Yes Master," said Rhian, and she popped away. Harry watched as Neville Apparated away, gave it five seconds and followed suit himself.

He emerged onto the gravelled driveway of the North Causeway which led through the grounds from the back of the house, near the stables. The unicorns were clustered inside, sleeping through the daylight hours. Harry's Bayard, Bavieca - who had been a gift from the Spanish Ambassador to the International Confederation of Wizards - was grazing a little way away from the paddock. She looked up as Harry appeared, but lost interest as soon as she saw him without his saddle.

"Sorry, Bav," he whispered onto the breeze. "Maybe I'll come for a ride tomorrow."

He wondered if Hermione would be interested in riding his super-fast steed. She wasn't much for broomsticks, if he remembered rightly, but this was a more earthly form of travel. They could ride together...that might be something. To have her pressed so tightly against him. But the riding motion might have embarrassing consequences...all that bouncing up and down with her body so close to his. No...that wouldn't do at all.

Harry shook himself and strode off behind Neville, who was some way ahead already. There was another pop and suddenly Hermione was next to him, falling into stride with ease and purpose.

"What is it?" she asked firmly. "Rhian made it sound urgent."

"Percy Weasley is trying to map the border to the palace," said Harry. "And he's using Ron's connection to you as a centering point."

"He's fucking _what_?" Hermione spat. "Well, that's urgent. That pissing family, honest to god..."

"Neville and I were just making a covenant to wipe them from existence," said Harry. "Wondered if you fancied in on it."

"Damn bloody right I do," said Hermione staunchly. "What do you need me to do?"

"Percy can somehow tap into the frequency of the magical connection," said Harry. "It has a Weasley signature. And, I was thinking - and don't hex me for this - but as, _technically, _you're a Weasley too, maybe you could access it going the other way."

"Oh, for fucks sake, Harry!" Hermione cried. "You really want to hurt me with that insult, don't you?"

"I'm sorry. I don't like you being part of the Big Happy Weasley clan anymore than you do. But we need to use it now."

"Bollocks," Hermione huffed. "Fine. What do I do?"

"Try to focus your mind," said Harry. "Calm it. Block out all sounds and thoughts. Just try to pick out any energy sources that don't feel like your own."

"Will I feel yours?" asked Hermione, smirking at him.

"Obviously," said Harry. "But ignore that for now. We need the direction the Weasley signal is coming from."

"Fine. I'll try. But I'm not happy about this, Harry. You'll owe me a _lot_ of kisses to cleanse me of this poison."

"Deal," Harry grinned. "Now, concentrate."

"I'm trying!" Hermione snapped. "Do you have any idea how intense _your_ connection to me is? Its hard to break through that. It'd be creepy...if it didn't feel so incredible!"

"Sorry," said Harry, slightly affronted.

"Don't pout, it doesn't suit you," said Hermione, bossily. She scrunched up her eyes as Harry frowned at her. "I love that, by the way. Just saying. Ah...I think I have it! The link...its weird...it almost _feels_ ginger."

Harry laughed at that, breaking his stormy mood. "Which way?"

"Off to the right," said Hermione. And she took off at a run in that direction.

"Hermione!" Harry called after her. "We are in forty acres of land here. Running isn't the way forward. Look along the connection line. Can you see anything? A landmark? A natural feature?"

Hermione stopped and closed her eyes. By this time Neville had spotted them and was sprinting in their direction.

"Let's see," said Hermione, her eyes still tightly shut. "There's a lot of flat land and grass, an old barn that looked like Bob Ross painted it...and, ohh! Apple trees. Lots of them. Harry...do you have a vineyard here?"

"Yeah, and a wine cellar to match," he confirmed.

"Merlin, don't tell Sue that...she'll drink you dry," said Hermione. "But, Harry, the Weasel Line runs right through the vineyard."

"Weasel Line?" Neville chuckled as he reached them, clutching a stitch in his side. "What's that?"

"Hermione's using her connection to Ron to find Percy's connection to her," Harry explained.

"Oh, of course, since she's a Weasley herself, really," said Neville without thinking. "Good idea."

"Go fuck yourself, Longbottom," Hermione cursed. "Call me a Weasley again and I'll break your other wrist!"

"You know, I think I preferred it when you were a docile little thing, who only got rowdy when someone defiled a library book," said Neville thoughtfully. "You were much less hazardous to my health back then."

"Yes, well, us Potters aren't known for our docility, are we, honey?" asked Hermione, turning to Harry.

"It's not mentioned on _my_ Chocolate Frog card," said Harry reasonably. He smiled and winked at her.

"I almost pity Tom Riddle," said Neville. "He has no _idea_ what's going to happen to him in your hands, does he?"

"No, and neither does Percival Weasley," said Harry. "Meet at the vineyard in ten seconds."

And he Apparated first, reappearing between the line of apple trees. They were in season, it would be time for a pressing soon. In a few weeks there would be vats of sweet cider just waiting to be quaffed in the late evening sun. Harry licked his lips as he pictured it, then strode on through rows and rows of grapevines that were tangled on white trellises. He wondered what grape variety the elves were growing this year. Last year's pinot grigio was wonderful, there were only a couple of bottles left.

Hermione and Neville soon joined Harry and together they exited the vineyard and moved along a dirt path which wound away into the distance.

"Harry...the connection...its really strong now," said Hermione. "Percy's close by...I can feel it."

"The ward boundary is just up ahead," said Neville, gesturing at a tree-line no more than fifty feet away. "Harry, we'd better act fast."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "If Hermione can sense it more keenly -"

"Then Percy will know, too," Hermione completed for him.

Harry drew his wand. Magic veritably thundered out around them. It shook several apples from the trees behind.

"Don't kill him, Harry," said Hermione warningly. "Not before we use him -"

"- for information, to know what he knows," said Harry, nodding. "I like how you think."

"How _she_ thinks?" Neville quirked. "Merlin...watching you two...its like you're thinking as _one_."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

"We are," they chorused. It was a pleasant sensation for the both of them.

Hermione's wand had snapped into her hand. Her magic throbbed with Harry's, creating a swirling wind that whipped up dust and twigs from the path.

"Open the ward, Nev," Harry commanded.

Neville drew his own wand and cast a rune out before them. It struck a solid surface, glowed puce for a moment, then a rent in the air opened up like the entrance to a teepee. For a split second, Percy Weasley was held fast in surprise. He blinked and clocked Harry, then turned a sickly shade of white.

And three spells smashed into him in quick succession.

Percy was thrown back and slammed into the parched ground behind him. His glasses cracked and fell from his face, which had swollen up in angry boils. His tongue, which was now four to five times its normal size, lolled out of his mouth. Harry, Hermione and Neville moved forwards to examine him.

"Everte Statum?" asked Harry appraisingly. "Your work, Nev?"

"What can I say? I like hammering people into the ground," Neville shrugged. "I like that other little jinx. Its like a bunch of allergic reactions in one go."

"That was mine," said Hermione proudly. "Ron always had bad allergies. Sometimes I would trigger them in public...to get back at him for hitting me in private. Its interesting to see how the spell works with more angry intent. What did you do, Harry?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Just an Anti-Disapparation jinx. I didn't trust myself not to obliterate him with anything stronger."

"Shall we take him inside?" asked Hermione. "Or is that not safe?"

"We'll check him for detection spells and tracking charms," said Harry. "Then we'll take him to the ritual chamber. If he _is_ rigged with anything, the room will absorb it."

"Rigged?" asked Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"They must assume capture is a possibility," said Neville. "If that happens, Percy here could be carrying anything...a poison to release into our air, an item spelled to explode when he reaches our sanctuary. Hell, we even heard tell that they were experimenting with a form of blood magic that would turn a person's very platelets into mini bombs. Who knows what Percy could be hiding."

"Neville - snap his wand," said Harry, nodding to it nearby. Neville picked it up and cracked it in two, before tossing it away. Hermione aimed her own wand at it, then set it on fire.

"Just to be sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders at Harry's quizzical look. Harry chuckled at her, then began casting diagnostic spells all over Percy's body.

"He seems clean," said Harry, standing after a few minutes of rampant spell casting.

"Apart from being a Weasley," Hermione hissed.

"Some stains just cant be removed," said Neville. Hermione glowered furiously at him. "What? You were a Potter five minutes ago. Make up your bleedin' mind!"

"Neville, seriously..." said Hermione dangerously. "I _will_ hurt you if you carry on."

Harry just shook his head exasperatedly. "Guys, come on. We have a Weasley...an _actual_ Weasley - in our custody. I, for one, am quite keen for the interrogation."

Both Neville and Hermione's eyes flashed maliciously. They nodded apologetically at each other.

"Right." said Harry. He flicked his wand at Percy, who vanished before them. "I'm going to prepare the ritual chamber. Neville - reseal the ward and gather the Circle. Hermione, if you'll permit it, I need to borrow your magical link again."

"For what?"

"I'm going to use it to drill into the head of Percival Weasley," said Harry viciously. "Then I'm going to rip it out as painfully as I can. When I'm done, I will be in control of the link Ron has to you. And, together, we are going to blow it to pieces."

Hermione fluttered so much Harry thought she was actually dancing. He smiled at her, then turned into his Apparition.

* * *

Hermione opened the door to the ritual chamber slowly and stepped inside. It was crackling with magic already. The runes on the floor flared with blues and greens and purples, while the alchemical symbols flashed silver and gold as Harry conducted them in practiced sequence. He was standing near the plinth at the elevated center of the room, his arms raised aloft. His hands were twirling and twisting as if he was speaking sign language. Hermione watched him a moment and gasped.

Harry had no wand. He was casting _wandless_ magic!

And it was more potent than anything she'd yet felt from him. For it was costing him, hurting him even. Hermione went a bit wild at that. But the power he was generating heaved and pumped all around them, like Harry was the huge piston of a great ship. And with each surge, the magic ballooned in intensity. Hermione felt it heavy on her chest and struggled for a clean breath.

"Come along, Lady Hermione," said Owain Glyndwr Jones, coming up to her. "It isn't advisable to stay out of the Circle for too long. When Harry's potency whips up to full force in here, it is liable to shatter your skeleton."

"Okay." said Hermione, slightly astonished. "But where do I go? I haven't been given a place yet."

"Of course you have," said Owain, smiling warmly. "Your place is at Harry's side."

Hermione blushed in response and allowed herself to be prodded forwards, past the other members of Harry's enclave. They were all on their knees in a half circle around him, in shiny silver robes and deep hoods. Hermione couldn't tell who was who, but they all started chanting as soon as Owain dropped to his knees in his spot. Hermione felt the magic begin to rise again, like a gale swirling around them. But it was only at the periphery now. It was like being in the eye of a storm.

Hermione stepped close to Harry. He was resplendent in a robe of deep gold. It was positively _dripping_ in his own magical force, as though it had recorded every piece of magic he'd ever done and trapped its residual power. She'd never felt the like. She was almost certain that, if he was so inclined, Harry could unleash the energy trapped within as though it were a deadly weapon.

She shuddered at the concept. For that was probably the very point.

Hermione found herself trembling a little, in awe of the potency of the power throbbing around her. She was still a little tentative when it came to ritual magic...and Harry hadn't even added his own power to this one yet. She could feel him focusing it within himself, compressing it for the right moment. Merlin, he was wound tight! She wanted to ease him, but she knew that this was what he had to do. And if he needed her to do the same, she knew she needed to be ready.

He turned to her then, as if sensing her discomfort.

"Relax," he told her. She couldn't see his face beneath his hood, but his voice seemed to smile. "You are the safest person in this palace. Well, you and little Ally share that title. But there's no need to be frightened. Relax and try to give to it. When we _really_ get you involved in this, you'll find the experience intoxicating."

"Will our sex ritual be like this? This intense?"

Harry laughed. "Hermione...this doesn't even come _close._"

Hermione swooned and inhaled a startled breath. She clucked her tongue with her impatience.

"Here, take this," said Harry. He proffered a long, white robe. It was made of very fine linen. "Its made from unicorn hair. Its perfect for ritual. It will let you absorb a little bit of the magic we're about to do. Its best to have a slow introduction to this form of magic. This way, you wont be overloaded."

"No, that will just be for our wedding night," said Hermione, grinning.

"Obviously..._Mrs Potter," _Harry teased.

"Sorry about that," said Hermione guiltily. "It was Neville, he was being annoying."

"Please don't be sorry," said Harry. "I liked it. I liked you saying it."

Hermione smiled to herself and slid the ritual robed over her head. There were spells in the fabric, she could tell that. But they were light, unobtrusive. Not like her battle trenchcoat, which had defensive magic flowing through the weaves like a liquid. This robe seemed to reach _out_ for magic like a magnet, pulling a small amount of the power that was now pounding around them. Hermione smoothed out the robe over her breasts and across her torso, then made to kneel, as the others were doing.

But Harry's hand shot out and grabbed her firmly beneath the arm. It was an instinctive reflex, for he wasn't looking in her direction anymore. He tugged her back up.

"My Lady bows to no-one," Harry said fiercely. "You stand with me."

Hermione gulped and reached her feet again, curling practically into Harry's side. This close, his magic was making her breathless and light-headed...and stupidly aroused. She pressed tight to him, carelessly ignorant of anyone who may be watching. And she found herself practically purring into his shoulder and she had to bite her lip...to stop herself from nibbling _him. _She was sure he'd be _delicious_.

Then the Inner Circle reached a crescendo of their chanting. The air thrummed with sonic power, as though the sound of their song was a form of magic itself. Hermione decided that it probably was. She felt the frequency resonate in her bones, and her instinct was to resist it as an intrusion. But Harry's words rang with her, and she opened up to it, even offered her own magic to the ebb and flow enveloping her.

And they welcomed her like a Queen taking her throne.

Hermione felt her magic join with the others seamlessly. She could sense them all separately now, and also as a collective, and understood their intent with a sudden shock of new clarity. One thing was starkly clear to her...they were all _utterly_ devoted to Harry. She felt a powerful surge of emotion for them all just then, and so proud of Harry for inspiring such loyalty. She let her adoration of Harry be added to their collective energy, knowing they would sense that from her in return.

Hermione loved Harry more than any of them, but now they would know she loved them, too.

And the room erupted in a new level of power that took even Harry by surprise. He inclined his head at the blinding light suffusing the entire space like a star gone nova. Hermione didn't need words. She felt his awe, his gratitude, the rise of his love for her in his chest. It turned the light a rich shade of gold. Hermione squinted at its brightness.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice cracked and stuttery.

"I am," said Hermione. "Do what you need to."

Harry nodded. Then his wand snapped into his hand, and he finally pushed his own magic into the vortex of the others. It turned the torrent into a hurricane. Hermione couldn't look at it anymore. She was certain it would blind her. So she closed her eyes, felt it instead. Let it infuse and cover her.

And her senses were sharpened by her submission. She could _see_ the room of a fashion, though her eyes were still firmly shut. But as the waves of magic shot around the room, Hermione could sense its contours, feel the power of the archaic symbols, knew the position of all the people, as though it were an echo bouncing back at her.

That's how she became aware that the smashed body of Percy Weasley had slammed onto the plinth next to her.

Hermione fancied she should have been shocked at the state of his body, but she had not the slightest inclination for pity where the Weasley family were concerned. She willed the magic billowing around her to wipe the stinking stench of the name from her being. She was _not_ a Weasley...she never had been.

It was the worst abomination, the taint of a family so grab-arseing. From Ron and his pathetic clutch at power, to Ginny turning her wizards-sleeve-sized fanny over to churning kids out for Voldemort, to Charlie...who headed up the aerial surveillance and broom-based assault force of Tom Riddle's army. They were the biggest bunch of bell-ends in Britain.

At least Molly hadn't taken the road to the dark side before popping her clogs. Hermione had despised that overbearing streak of piss enough as it was.

But Percy was the nobody's nobody. So peripheral that if you blinked you'd miss him. He hadn't needed Voldemort's Dark Revolution to drink from the dark side's cup. He'd happily cosied up to the corruption of Fudge, the detestable fervour of Umbridge. Sided against Harry on more than one occasion. There was no greater treason in Hermione's book. Whatever treatment Harry had in store for him, its limit of pain need have no upper threshold in Hermione's opinion.

But the physical interrogation had already been done. Hermione didn't have to ask by whom. Harry's thoughts had strayed to Myfanwy, her stressed state over Angharad. Harry was questioning his decision to turn the interrogation of Percy over to her. She might have killed him, cost them this chance. He would have to force her into a calming ritual. Then Hermione was hit with a bolt of astonishment.

She was reading Harry's _mind_. His actual _thoughts_, as though in her own head. She wondered if he knew.

But she had barely time to dwell on that. The battle was done, Percy had given up anything he was likely to under Myfanwy's care. Now it was time to take from him what they needed. Harry turned sharply to Hermione.

"This is your last chance to back out," he said gently.

"Why would I do that?" she queried.

"This is going to be intimate, invasive," said Harry. "I'm going to have to take control of a portion of your mind for a period of time. I know how much you've suffered under those techniques before. I don't want the experience to shock you into some sort of remission."

"Is that likely?"

"I don't know...I've never done this before," said Harry. "But what I'm going to have to do isn't a million miles away from the control spells the MRC are trying to place on all Muggleborns. I'm doing it to protect you, but I don't want your mind and magic to recognise the sign of invasion...and shut me down."

"What will you have to do?" asked Hermione.

"I have to enter your mind, to find that point where the spell is anchored into you," said Harry. "I'll be delving into parts of you so deep and intimate and vulnerable...you might rightly reject _anyone_ going there, whether its me or not. The MRC want to use deep-level spelling as a control system, to allow your mind to know only what they want it to. It would, essentially, make you a slave to your Truly Wedded Lord."

"That doesn't sound so bad, Harry," said Hermione, before adding somewhat vapidly. "I could live with being your slave."

"Hermione, this isn't a time for joking."

"Who's joking?" Hermione replied. "Harry I love you, and I trust you. Do what ever you have to. Just think...love, honour and obey! Its in our future."

Harry snorted. "Our vows will be _love, honour and cherish_, thank you very much, if we use them at all."

Hermione huffed. "Just go ahead and take my mind, Harry. Its only fair...you've already given me your _heart_, which is what you're all about. Its only right that I share with you my mind. Then we will be truly_ one._"

The room pounded with a deep surge of Harry's emotion. Hermione basked in it, swam in its very depths. For it was all for her. She felt luckier than any woman in the world just then.

"Okay," said Harry, easing down. "But if at any time it gets too much, just push me away."

Hermione knew his inference went far beyond this room.

"Never gonna happen."

Harry nodded, his smile on the air again. Then Hermione felt his presence, creeping and edging deeper into her. She gasped, but not at the intrusion. She gave to that willingly, let Harry cross her borders without even a second of hesitation. But it was his delicateness, his care. He was so soft and considerate. He would make love to her like this one day. She thrilled at the expectancy.

Her mind had wandered far away. It could be anywhere, or nowhere. Harry was there with her, holding her so tenderly she felt fragile in his arms. That he daren't let her go or she might shatter beyond repair. She'd be no good to anyone else, not that she wanted anyone else. It could be just her and Harry in an empty world for all she cared. That suited her just fine. She relaxed and enjoyed these giddying sensations.

Then Hermione felt the change. Something shifted in her mind, lightened it. It was like the relief after a heavy sneeze blew clear the sinuses. She blinked at her new awareness, only cognizant of this weight that had been pressing on her now it was gone. She felt it go as though being eased of a burden. And she beamed in delight.

For she knew, without doubt, that she was finally free of the dominion of Ronald Weasley. She could have danced with the happiness of it.

But then she frowned. For where had it gone? She could still _feel_ it in the room, but it was now something distinctly external. It took her all of three seconds to work it out. For Ron's influence wasn't the only thing that was gone...Harry's presence had slipped away with it, unnoticed by Hermione during her blast of euphoria.

"Harry! What have you done?"

She didn't really need to ask, but he was struggling with the weight he'd taken from her and couldn't reply. He'd placed both hands on the plinth to steady himself.

"Harry...you idiot!" Hermione cried. "You can't take Ron's control spell into yourself! Its too dangerous."

"He can't control me as he could you," Harry shouted through gritted teeth. "My mental control is far more powerful and refined than yours. But I need to understand this link...find a way to use it...find out what else they've done to you. It'll settle. Just give me a minute."

Hermione huffed and crossed arms angrily over her chest. She was fuming, tamping, raging. Harry had tricked her! Lured her into a ritual to take another of her burdens into himself. She felt stupid for falling for the same trick again. Though she couldn't feel anything _but_ grateful that Harry was willing to make yet another such sacrifice for her. She didn't deserve it. But, equally, Harry didn't deserve her chastening for looking out for her so diligently.

"Can I do anything to help?" she asked. She was getting desperate, Harry was obviously struggling.

"The connection's resisting my attempt to force my will on it," said Harry, his voice stretched and pained. "Its trying to lock back on to Percy. I need Enola, or her mother, and my entire array of containment crystals."

"Is it safe for me to leave?" asked Hermione.

"No, but you can summon _them_, and create a portal through which they can enter," said Harry.

"How?"

"Use the energy of the room," said Harry. "Focus your mind, imagine yourself pulling the magic to you. Then try to concentrate on the energies of the house. I know you can already feel mine in the walls. Try to pick out Ennie's signature amongst all the other signals. Just think about pushing the idea of crystals down the connection to her. She will understand and know what to do."

Hermione was a little daunted by the task Harry had set her, but the great academic rose in her chest to meet the challenge. She had to be methodical, even under pressure. _Pull the magic_. That was the first step. So she tried, but it wasn't as easy and effortless as Harry made it look. It was like trying to catch a pebble in a raging ocean swell. It skimmed and shimmied away from her grasp, and each failed attempt left her annoyed and frustrated.

Hermione huffed and sought to calm her mind. She was going about this all wrong. She didn't have the control or experience to handle the _entire_ magical collective, but she could manage one strand. She found Neville's energy within the swirling tide, and pulled it to herself as though reeling in a wild kite. Shards of the others came with it and Hermione was imbued with a ferocious sense of power a moment as they all settled on her.

_Merlin...was this how Harry always felt in ritual! No wonder he was such a lion! This power was incredible!_

Hermione blinked the sensation off a moment. She didn't have the luxury of basking in that right now. She turned back to task, pushing her mind out of the room and searching for Enola. It was easier now. Neville seemed to have cottoned on to what she was doing and had joined with her, guiding her efforts. Hermione piggy-backed on Neville's mind, let him create the link to his wife, then Hermione concentrated with all her might on the message Harry had asked her to convey.

And seconds later, Enola appeared at her side, a box containing Harry's power crystals in her hand. Hermione smiled at her. She'd done it! Harry would be so proud of her.

Then Hermione promptly collapsed, utterly exhausted.

"Min!" Enola exclaimed, dropping to her side. "Are you alright?"

"Forget me," cried Hermione curtly. "Harry needs you. Right now!"

Enola obeyed the command. "Harry! What's wrong? You're barely holding on! What have you done?"

"He stole Ron's connection to me," Hermione called up when Harry was unable to respond. "He's trying to take it into himself."

"Oh, for fucks sake, Harry!" Enola cried. "You know that isn't how it works...we talked about this!"

"You _discussed_ this?" asked Hermione aghast, dragging herself to her feet. "He planned it!?"

Enola looked dumbfounded at Hermione. "Min...Harry's considered _everything_ to try and heal you. He's even flirted with the idea of using an inverted Imperius Curse...to use_ his _mind to order _yours_ to not be afraid of that prick you married."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. She felt she ought to be angry at that, but she didn't have it in her. The very idea that Harry spent so much time thinking of ways to help and heal her...it just stirred such tenderness in her heart that she could think of little else.

"So...what did you discuss about this?" Hermione asked. Her mind was in a frenzy. She could feel Harry's struggle. He was almost beyond them.

"He wanted to hijack the connection, use it himself to damage Ron," Enola explained. "But he turned away from the idea, as he didn't want to violate your mind further than it's already been. That's why he abandoned the Imperius plan, too. But he speculated that he could take the link into himself...if he could convince it that it was still connected to you."

"How did he intend to do that?"

"By creating another plane in his mind," said Enola. "Filling it with copies of your memories and directing the link there. I was dead against that idea."

"Why?"

"Its extremely dangerous," said Enola. "The more we split Harry's mind, the less control he has in each plane. When he first came to us, after the Forest five years ago, it was the only choice we had. He would have driven himself mad. That dark plane, if you are ever unfortunate enough to see it, that's what his waking mind was like when he returned from the dead. We had to divide his mind to keep him sane.

"But the more planes we create, the more risky it becomes. The mind isn't meant to be split any more than the soul is...we could lose him doing this."

Hermione's heart jumped into her mouth. What would that mean? Would he die, or just be inordinately different? Might he not recognise her...not love her any more? Hermione thought she might die if _that_ happened. But Enola was already moving, wrenching Hermione back from her speeding thoughts. She had eased Harry to the floor and was placing his crystals strategically around him.

"What are you doing!" Hermione cried. "You said its too dangerous."

"We don't have a choice now," Enola snapped back. "Harry's gone too far. His mind will break entirely if I can't create a new plane for him."

"Okay." Hermione huffed. "But let me do _something_. Please! I feel so useless."

Enola looked scrutinisingly at her. "The connection is reaching out for _this_ Weasley, in absense of any other. It's making it harder for Harry to focus it on himself. Take Excalibur..._sever_ the link."

Hermione needed no second invitation. She reached into Harry's robe, questing for the sword at his hip. She gasped in shock as her hands touched skin and she made a startling discovery...Harry was naked besides his underwear under this fabric. It took incredible will power to hold her hands steady, and it was lucky they soon found the one sort of _hilt_ she was looking for.

She unsheathed the blade. It was surprisingly light, but the sharp edges glinted in the fierce glow still emanating from the walls. Hermione rounded Harry and looked down at Percy. She saw nothing but hatred embodied before her. She placed the blade across his neck, just to take aim, then raised the sword high above her head, before bringing it back down with a _swish_.

And she beheaded Percy Weasley in a single stroke.


	11. Internal Affairs

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

The silence in the air of Recuperation Room, on the palace's second floor, was palpably thick. It sat heavy and unmoving, like the stifling, arid dryness of a breezeless day in the middle of a heatwave. Hermione felt it settle on her like a suffocating weight. She watched Arianwen help Enola to sit up in bed as she stirred, fluffing her daughter's pillows and checking her over with a swift series of diagnostic spells. Enola frowned and cast an anxious look around, batting away her mother's attention. She looked first at Hermione, and then at Neville who, for probably the first time in hours, had torn his concerned attention away from her.

For Neville was looking down gravely into the next bed along, at Harry's motionless form, at his blank, staring eye. His own expression was drawn, pale. Hermione could barely stand to look at it. She was reminded forcibly of that first evening, that wonderful first evening when Harry had come back to her, when what struck her the most wasn't his hideous scar, or even his throbbing rage, that she would soon become intimately familiar with. It was his eye, turned to chilled steel and lacking all the vibrancy she knew and loved. It had lost hope.

Just as Neville's eyes betrayed now.

Hermione wanted to fume at him, to vent and rage herself. But she could hardly offer an alternative. For the procedure to create a new plane in Harry's mind had gone horribly wrong. Enola had struggled to drill deep enough into it, had held onto Harry's essence with only the barest of her fingertips once she did…and then lost her grip at the vital moment. The plane was just about opened, Enola used the last of her energy to force the Weasley link into it, but then passed out with exhaustion.

And Harry Potter was lost…somewhere in the recesses of his fractured psyche.

Arianwen had taken charge of Harry's treatment, but she could do little to help._ Enola's_ speciality was mind magic, and she was uniquely intimate with Harry's mindscape. She was the only one who could help him. But she had spent twenty-four hours in deep sedation herself, recovering her burnt out energy. Neville had barely spared a glance from her sleeping form the entire time. He looked exhausted now, but was keeping a determined vigil, lest his wife try to dive right back in to Harry's aid.

For Enola was restlessly eager to atone for what had gone wrong. She sat up in her bed, adjacent to Harry's own, her arms curled around her hitched-up legs, just staring at Harry's expressionless face. He might as well have been a deformed sort of mannequin. There was nothing - not a twitch, not a change of colour in his skin, nothing to indicate life at all, beyond the steady puff of breath from his smashed nose.

And even this stuttered. Each time it did, Enola and Hermione were almost in a silent race to react first. Hermione won every time, but it was all Neville could do to keep Enola from trying to gain a head-start on the next pause in Harry's breathing. She was as fully focused as her fatigue would allow, and Neville was deeply concerned for her.

"You need to eat something, to get your strength back up." Neville coaxed.

"I'm not hungry," Enola replied, stubbornly.

"A little tea, then?"

"No, thank you. Where's my wand?"

"I've given it to Alison. She's practising Summoning Charms with it."

"You've _what?" _Enola shrieked. "Neville…you haven't -"

"Of course I haven't," Neville huffed back. "How irresponsible a parent do you take me for?"

"Then give me my wand."

"No. It will try to draw energy from you. And you don't have any to spare right now."

"Nev…please…"

"No," said Neville firmly. "I know what you'll try and do. I can read you like a book, dear."

Enola frowned at Neville. "I can't just leave Harry in there…its my fault."

"You did your best," said Neville, placatingly. "It was always a risk. Harry should have known better. Myfanwy…she has the information extracted from Percy. We should focus on that now. See if she learned anything useful."

Hermione offered a frown of her own in response. "Why are you sounding like Harry wont come back?"

Neville swallowed hard and looked down at Harry's prostrate form. "Min…I know how difficult this will be to hear but…we might have to accept it…"

Neville's words fell away. He seemed unable to put the sentence together. The pain flowing through the lines of his face told its own story. Hermione felt her heart crunch into her sternum. Neville was _actually_ serious…he meant this. He thought Harry was…

Hermione couldn't form the thought, She wouldn't. "Neville…why are saying this? Harry will be fine. He always comes back. Always."

Neville shook his head. "Arianwen…she cant help Harry because…because she cant find him in there. She thinks there isn't enough _left_ of him to bring back."

Hermione's breath hooked in her lungs and she bit down on her lip. She looked to Enola, hoping for some sort of counter-argument. But Enola was just as grave as Neville. It stirred an unreasonable anger in Hermione's chest.

"Well you must have _some_ idea," she cried. "You did this to him. Its your area of expertise. There must be something you can think of."

"Hermione, that isn't fair," said Neville, rising to Enola's defence. "Harry's recklessness forced this on Enola."

"His _recklessness_!" Hermione shot, her ire rising rapidly. "I think you mean _selflessness,_ Neville. Harry risked himself to help me, to free me from Ron's hold. And I know you aren't stupid enough to say this is my fault, either."

"Of course he wouldn't say that," said Enola, quickly cutting across, as Neville seemed on the verge of being slightly reckless himself. Enola glowered at him until his irate look fell away. "_Would you,_ honey?"

"No…no of course I wouldn't," said Neville, sincerely, after pouting for a few seconds. "I'm sorry. I'm just fucking angry. That's not just Harry Potter laying there. That's my brother I'm losing. There's blame to be handed out, for sure, but it isn't fair to place it all at the door of my wife."

"Maybe not," Hermione agreed, trying to slow her own collision of emotions. "But she's the best hope he has."

"There may not _be_ any hope," said Neville gently. "We have to face that."

"So, what, we just abandon him?" said Hermione incredulously. Her pulse was speeding in her neck. "I'm not going to do that, Neville. I cant."

"Harry would expect you to," said Neville evenly. "He'd want you to take up the mantle he's passed on to you."

"He hasn't passed on any mantle," said Hermione. "What are you talking about?"

"Harry introduced you just enough to our ways to make you understand how they work," said Neville. "He was thrilled by how you'd adapted to it, even from your brief exposure. He formed a new idea to make you part of our final plan. He'd count on you to see it through. He believed in you, he knew you had immense potential. You have to prove his faith was justified now."

"Stop talking about him in the past tense!" cried Hermione, standing and glaring fiercely at Neville. Angry tears stung her eyelids.

"Hermione! He's gone!" said Neville firmly, facing down her passions. "And we have a war to fight in his name. He's given you just enough to take his place…the rest you can learn in time. He stirred your power as an insurance policy as much as anything. In case something like this happened. It would have been easier with the both of you, but our original plan involved just Harry and me. We can still do this…just with you in Harry's place."

"No!" yelled Hermione, flopping back into her seat as the dam behind her eyes shattered.

Neville leant down and placed a soft hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I know its difficult to accept…I cant even imagine how you will. But Harry is a…a casualty of war. But the fight goes on. If we don't win it, we've lost him for nothing."

Hermione sobbed uncontrollably. Neville squeezed her shoulder and said nothing. Hermione permitted the contact for just a minute, then she broke free of him. She stood up and rounded on him.

"No, no I wont do this," said Hermione stoutly. "You want to give up on him, fine. But _I_ wont. He wouldn't give up on us in _any_ situation."

"But there's nothing we can do. We've tried…"

"You've not tried _anything_!" Hermione shrieked. "And in any case, this is _Harry_…conventional rules don't apply. Fuck you, Neville. You just sit by Enola and whine like a little bitch. I'm going to find a way to bring Harry back."

"Hermione, its a waste of time," said Neville, his ire rising with a flush to his cheeks. "We need to go to Myfanwy. We cant expect Riddle to be idle. Revenge for Hengest will be high on his agenda. And he'll soon guess what has happened to Percy. We need to know what he's planning."

"Then you do that," said Hermione. "If I'm in charge now, that's my first order. Go and find out what that filth Weasley had to say for himself. If there's anything to act on, gather everyone together and we'll discuss it."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Finally exploring this library Harry built for me," said Hermione, turning on her heel and striding purposefully away. She didn't need to explain further and Neville nodded his head at that. For Hermione and a library was always functionally equivalent to the term _solution_.

* * *

"Oh for Merlin's Balls, fucking sake!"

It was fair to say that Hermione's frustrations were finally starting to get the better of her. She doubted that any library anywhere would tolerate such language, but, as this one belonged to her, she decided she didn't really care. Besides, her search wasn't going well and she couldn't get used to this conundrum. Books were _always_ the answer. She'd practically lived her life by that mantra.

But here they were, failing in front of her very eyes. Just when Hermione needed them the most.

"Useless fucking waste of wood pulp!" she shrieked, tossing another hapless tome across the room. Hermione immediately felt guilty and hurried over to retrieve it. Harry had obviously spent a great deal of time and effort - not to mention a good proportion of his fortune - assembling this vast collection of books just for Hermione's pleasure. It would be quite the show of ingratitude for her to break half of them through her own frustrated anger.

But there was nothing here that had been even remotely helpful so far. And Hermione had been scouring the vast shelves for a good ten hours by now. The assorted collection of coffee cups was testament to that. Rhian, who had taken over Hermione's personal care in Sally's absence, was growing concerned.

"Does Mistress need a glass of wine? To calm her nerves."

"No, but another coffee might be an idea," Hermione replied, pulling at her hair in her angst.

"No, no mores coffee for Mistress Hermione," said Rhian, seriously. "Too much coffee now…Mistress be buzzing like bee."

"But I need the energy," Hermione protested. "_Harry_ needs me to have the energy. So, more coffee, please."

"Nope," said Rhian stoutly. "Is for my Lady's own good. Yous need rest. Can't help Master Harry while fighting yous own fatigue."

Hermione knew Rhian was right, but she was in no humour to give in just yet.

"Rhian…do you think this is hopeless? Nev and Enola do."

"Lord Longbottom be practical sort, his Lady powerful at mind magic," said Rhian. "To _them_, Master Harry may be lost. But Rhian knows Lady Hermione…yous cant give up on the love of yous life."

"But what do _you_ think? You have powerful magic of your own. Is Harry truly gone?"

Rhian flopped her head sadly. "Master Harry be gone. Rhian not sense him anymore. Can he come back? Rhian not be knowing this, Mistress. I's not know much about it or how it works. Elves never use magic like that. Only witches and wizards be silly enough to mess with breaking up minds and souls."

Hermione felt her heart sink to the floor. She had hoped for some support from the elf, but to hear her speak with such sincerity…it sliced right to her core. For the first time, Hermione allowed a grain of doubt into her mind. She trembled all over as it took seed, spreading quickly to all parts of her. She felt something break inside and she flung her hand to her chest, to massage the ache which had stabbed at her there.

"Actually, Rhian, I think I'll take you up on the wine. Might as well bring a bottle. Or three."

"Very good, Mistress," said Rhian, and she promptly popped away.

A few moments later and three bottles of fine rioja were next to Hermione on the table. She filled, and promptly drained, the first glass, before pouring the next a little more slowly, with shaking hands. Her mind wouldn't stay still. She refused to accept the truth that was now creeping perilously close to her conscious thoughts. She couldn't. It was too horrific to contemplate, to even begin to process the big question of _what if_. What would she do? How could she possibly start to think about _what happens next_.

She shuddered simply allowing the words to cross her mind. By the time she reached the bottom of the first bottle, Hermione was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest, and so fierce was the pulse-point in her neck she was worried it would rupture and spill out all over her skin. And she was restless. She would stand, pace around aimlessly, only to sit back down and rock back and forth, then stand again a minute later and repeat the process.

Wild, unchained thoughts fought for dominance in Hermione's mind. The most hideous of these was how long would they wait…before asking her to make the next decision. If Harry's mind was gone, his very soul with it, how long would they leave his body in that lifeless state? They'd argue it wasn't fair on him…that it would be a mercy…that it was what _he'd_ want…

And Hermione would be looked towards, to make that choice.

She cried out in anguish at it. The vision played over in front of her eyes, like a terrible fate she couldn't escape. She could see herself, inconsolable tears running down her cheeks, begging Harry for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry, Harry!" she howled. She felt as if she were signing his death certificate.

"He's not gone."

A voice. Tiny, barely a whisper. Hermione looked around. Had she really heard that, or was it the wine talking? The second bottle had only dregs to show for Hermione's mindless bout of misery.

"He's not gone."

Hermione put her glass down and scoured the room. The light was dimming now, the library dull and gloomy in the twilight of the evening. She should have raised the lights. As she thought this, the room slowly lit up, as though the house was responding to her command. Or could Harry hear her, and was giving her what she needed. That was interesting. It stilled Hermione's panic a moment, only to stir it again as she considered the implications. Maybe Harry was some sort of ghost, haunting her and only able to interact with her in this basic sort of way.

"Mister Harry isn't gone. You shouldn't give up."

Hermione spun and started in shock. A little girl was stood in the corner of the room, partially hidden behind one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, peeking out shyly. Hermione was certain she'd checked there. She took a breath to steady herself. Seriously, she was bordering on bringing on a heart attack the way she was going.

"Hello," she said gently. "I know you. You're Luna's daughter, aren't you?"

Little Celesca Lovegood stepped fully into the light. Her blonde hair had been arranged into a neat little bob just above her shoulders, and she looked far healthier than when Hermione had last seen her. But, she reasoned fairly, being minutes away from becoming a ritual sacrifice was bound to leaving you looking a little fraught.

"Yes. My name's Celesca."

"Its nice to meet you, Celesca," said Hermione. "That's a pretty name."

"I think so," said Celesca. "My Mummy made it up. And you're Mistress Potter." Her voice was almost ethereal, as though every word was carrying a revelation. "Mister Harry's Lady."

Hermione blushed. "I'm not Mistress Potter. Though one day, I hope to be."

"But you are his Lady."

"Yes. That much is _definitely_ true."

"Then its the same thing," said Celesca. She came forward and looked Hermione all over. Hermione felt like she was being weighed up by this child. It was a little unsettling. "Mister Harry likes you _so_ much, do you know? I've never felt someone liking a person as strongly as he likes you. But you like him nearly as much I think."

"Nearly?" Hermione quirked.

"Nearly." Celesca repeated with a jarring finality. "So you ought not to give up on him."

"I'm trying not to," said Hermione wearily. "But everyone else seems to think he's lost and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, he's lost alright," said Celesca. "But that just means he can't find his way back. Doesn't mean he's _gone_."

"You say that with remarkable confidence," said Hermione cautiously. That seed of doubt in her mind halted its growth spurt a moment.

"With certainty, Lady Potter," said Celesca.

"You can call me Hermione."

"My mum says you're going to be a Queen one day, a real one," said Celesca, her eyes sparkling with girlish excitement. "So that means I have to address you properly. My mum always said manners are important."

"And she's quite right," said Hermione. "But I'm not a Queen yet. And, if Harry doesn't come back, I never will be. So you can call me by my name if you like."

"Mister Harry will come back," said Celesca. "But only you can help him."

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen his mind, Miss Hermione," said Celesca, finally sitting herself. "He has lots of layers, all dark and horrid. They should never have done that to him, Miss. Nobody should have that inside them."

"You've seen Harry's mind?" asked Hermione in a whisper. "How?"

"Its my magic," said Celesca. "I feel energies everywhere. People have lots of energies around them. I can grab hold of the ones from the mind and move along them, like walking down a corridor. Then I see what they think, or what they are dreaming. But, with Mister Harry…I've never seen that before. He has lots and lots of places in his mind. Like a big building with lots of floors. I could go into each one for as long as I liked. But I didn't like to stay too long…there are some frightening things in some of them, Miss. They'd scare you to death, I'd bet."

"So, is Harry on one of these…_floors_?" asked Hermione, frightfully anxious of the contours of Harry's mind as Celesca had described them.

"He must be, because the other floors are still the same," said Celesca, cocking her head upwards, in the direction Hermione knew the Recuperation Room was. It was as if Celesca was _interfacing_ with Harry's mind. Somehow, Hermione was certain of that. "If he was gone, they'd be gone with him. But they're not. But I can't get onto the deeper floors. The pretty lady - the one with the baby - she went too deep. She's gone beyond his mind. Maybe his heart, too. Which is why you are the only one who can help him now."

"Me? What can I do?" asked Hermione. "I don't have the first clue about this. Enola knows all about mind magic…and these books are no help."

"The pretty lady cant help, this is beyond her now," said Celesca. "And the books are no good; you might as well throw them all away. The only person who can do anything is you. But you have to do something you don't want to."

"Which is?"

"Believe in yourself," said Celesca simply. "To turn _nearly_ into the _the same_. You are holding back from Mister Harry in a deep part of you. It has to be let go. Then your connection to him will be complete and you can find him. Nobody else can."

"But I don't know how."

Celesca stood and walked to stand in front of Hermione. She placed her little hand against Hermione's chest. "There is a cord of energy here. Its silvery in colour. It goes so deep into you that I never knew there were such places inside. I've tried to follow it, but at some point I get blocked off. I've never seen it before…except on Mister Harry."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Harry has one of these…energy cords?" Celesca nodded. "What are they? Some sort of natural magic?"

"This is more than magic, Miss," said Celesca. She rolled her eyes as if examining a piece of project work. "They are charged with such force…I think they go right into a person…right into their _spirit_. I hope I can have one someday. They are the most pretty things. And they vibrate with the same sort of wobble, yours and Mister Harry's. I think they can join together. But you're stopping it."

"I don't want to stop it!" Hermione protested vehemently. "I want to join with Harry in every way possible."

Celesca shook her head. "You want to, but you aren't. I don't know why. I followed Mister Harry's side easy enough. It leads right into the very middle of him…and its such a pretty place, Miss. Where the others are so harsh, that place is lovely. But with you…you're holding back. You need to let it go, whatever it is. Then you can rescue Mister Harry from wherever he's gotten lost to."

Hermione looked at Celesca and considered her words. She wanted to dismiss them as nonsense. The ramblings of a little girl who didn't know what she was talking about. Hermione loved Harry so powerfully it robbed her of her senses half the time. How could there be any possible way she could love even more deeply? But even as she said it, she felt a twinge in her heart. There _was_ something there. It hit her like a bludgeon.

But it was nothing to do with Harry. This was all about her. How, she couldn't have said, but it seemed the most fitting explanation. She _was_ holding something back. In all her bluster about Harry drawing the line on physical intimacy, she hadn't considered that maybe there was more to it. That maybe Harry knew something about her that she didn't, and was simply waiting for her to come up to speed.

It made a skewed sort of sense now she thought about it. Harry had done nothing but look out for her since the day he'd roared to her rescue, both in deeds seen and unseen. It followed that he would look after her in this, too. He had been to the fringe of the afterlife, had his mother point out to him that he was in love, then accepted it completely when he returned to the earthly world. He'd spent years then learning about himself through ritual and study, becoming comfortable with all sorts of aspects to his person.

It could never be said that Harry was nothing if not self-assured.

But Hermione knew she couldn't claim the same. She had been beaten into physical and emotional submission by Ron. And Harry had bravely ripped the effects of both from her without a single thought for himself. Hermione's heart stirred at the thought, that he loved her that much. It was the sweetest thing. But had he done it to lift the veil on what she was missing? Risk his own death to finally get what he had come back to life for?

Hermione knew she had to find out. And she had an idea just how to do it.

* * *

"I'm not sure about this," said Neville, placing a Resonance Stone at the centre of the ritual chamber.

"I don't care, we're doing it," said Enola, evenly spacing moonstone crystals in a circle around Neville.

"Look, I know you feel guilty, but Harry wouldn't approve of this," said Neville. "This ritual space…its his personal sanctuary. He's worked hard to harness the power in here. I don't know that he'd be thrilled to have it…well…_abused_ like this."

"I disagree," said Enola. "It isn't abusing it. Min told me that Harry intends to banish the spirit of Tom Riddle from every plane of existence using this room one day. He might use a ritual like this to do it. And if Luna has been advising her on how to construct this…what did she call it?"

"Necro-Portal," Neville inserted for her.

"Whatever it is…then maybe that's what Harry is going to use," said Enola. "See this as a practice run. Harry will be so pleased if we can make this work."

Neville looked doubtfully at his wife. "I admire your avoidance."

"Excuse me, but you should admire _everything_ about me!"

"I do, but you're pushing this a bit," said Neville. "Harry's lost. We have to accept it."

Enola put down her box of crystals and rounded on him. "Why are you so keen to let Harry go? You haven't shown any sort of grievance over this. He's your _brother_ for Merlin's sake."

"I know that! Don't you think I fucking know that?" Neville yelled, his anger flaring so much the runes lit at his feet to dissipate his rage. Enola ground her jaw but faced off to him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." He stepped close to Enola and took her hands, resting his head on her shoulder. His voice was gossamer fragile when he spoke. "This is tearing me up, okay? You want me to admit it? Just seeing him there…its like he's dead already. I cant feel a damn thing from him and its killing me just being in that bloody room. And I'm so angry at him for doing it."

"You'd have done it for me," Enola whispered back, her hand snaking up and cupping the back of his head.

Neville breathed a deep sigh. "You know I bloody would have. And quicker, too. That's what makes me angry. I cant even _be_ properly angry, 'cause I'd have done exactly the same. Everything just seemed to be on the up…then this. I'm royally pissed off."

"Think about what I'm going through!" said Enola. "It's my fault he was lost in the first place. I just couldn't hold his spirit…it was like he was being tugged away from me."

"He shouldn't have put you in that position," said Neville, drawing back and looking firmly at his wife. "I couldn't say it in front of Hermione. I thought she was a tick away from hexing me again as it was."

"I think you're right," said Enola. "Her magic was actually sparkling on her skin. I've only ever seen that happen to Harry. She's stupidly powerful, Nev. If anyone can make this work, besides Harry, then its her."

"I know that," said Neville huffing. "But what _exactly_ is she planning to do? If Luna's involved, I'm wary."

"Min didn't tell me much," said Enola, going back to her crystal placing. "All she said was that there is some way she can connect to Harry, but she needs someone to break down a last barrier for her. I don't know what that means."

Neville scratched his chin. "She needs someone to break down a barrier…and we are building a portal to the world of the dead…that sounds scarily like Necromancy to me."

"Well we aren't killing anyone," said Enola, fairly. "What was it you said Luna was working on last, at the Department of Mysteries? That was to do with the afterlife, wasn't it?"

"She called it ghost writing," said Neville, nodding. "Trying to commune with the dead somehow. She never said it actually worked."

"Why was she doing that?"

"Harry is mindful that Tom Riddle has been killed before," said Neville. "His Horcruxes keep his spirit anchored here. We wanted to make sure that, when the final battle came, we destroyed his body _and _spirit. Harry could easily kill Riddle in a duel, but his spirit cant be allowed to escape. So we wanted a route to the other side, where we might find help. Others who could drag him through or trap him once he got there. There's only one place we know where such a doorway exists."

"The Veil, at the Ministry," said Hermione, who had just opened the door and entered. She marched purposefully across to them. "The only place where there's a _possibility_ of reaching the other side…or of the other side reaching _us_."

"Is that what you're going to try and do…reach the other side?" asked Neville as Hermione came to a halt in front of him

"Of a fashion," said Hermione. "Harry's not lost entirely. I can reach him…I just don't know how. I'm hoping to find someone who can tell me what I need to do."

"Who?" asked Enola.

"The person who knows most about Harry's internal workings," said Hermione, somewhat cryptically. "The stone at the centre - it is made from iolite, yes? Luna said that's very important."

"Yeah, my mum said that too," said Enola. "It channels dreams and journeys. Is that what you're going to do, Min? Go on a journey into Harry's mind?"

"Eventually," Hermione replied. She began unfolding the ritual robe Harry had given to her. "But first, I need to go into his heart. That's where the answer is."

"Lily…you're going to see Harry's mum."

Hermione cocked her head at Enola. "Good guess. How did you know?"

"Easy. She's the only person in Harry's heart besides you. And you're hardly likely to be going to see yourself, are you?"

"Harry's mum?" Neville queried. "But why?"

Hermione paused and looked sheepishly at Neville and Enola. "Well, I was thinking…me and Harry…well, it sometimes feels _bigger_ than us both. Like fate, or destiny, or something like that. Like it was just meant to be, no matter what. When we're together, I feel a whole new sort of magic, a different type of energy flowing between us. Its hard to explain…but I think there's something between Harry and I that goes beyond anything that most couples have, even ones so deeply in love, like you two."

"What…like you're _soulmates,_ or something like that?" asked Enola, quietly.

"Or something like that." Hermione repeated blushing madly. "I don't even know if there is such a thing, but if there _is_, me and Harry are definitely _it_. I couldn't say how I'm so sure, I just am. Saying I'm in love just isn't strong enough. It goes much deeper than that, to an emotion that has no name. But there's something on my end stopping us being together in that way. So I have to ask Lily how she opened Harry up to me…then see if she can help me do the same. I think there's a power there we can harness together. It could be beautiful, it could be terrible…it could be the answer Harry's been waiting for. So I have to find it."

"Wow. Just…wow."

"And you don't think this is at all dangerous? Communing with the dead?" asked Neville. He held up his hands when both Hermione and Enola frowned at him. "What? Someone has to ask the difficult questions around here. I'm not doubting anything you've said about you and Harry…but that doesn't make this any less _grey_. Its flirting with Necromancy and you know it."

"Its a meditation ritual," said Hermione. "More like astral travelling. I'm going to try and tap into Harry's energies in here, make contact with all those looking over him. I'm hoping Lily will come to me."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I'll threaten not to let her see her grandchildren," said Hermione, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I can be a stubborn little witch when I want to be."

"We've noticed," Neville and Enola chorused. All three laughed together.

"Well, the stones are all placed as you wanted," said Enola. "Is there anything more we can do?"

"No, this is perfect, thank you," said Hermione. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to strip down into this robe."

"No need to be modest, Min," Enola quirked. "Your perky tits speak for themselves. Besides, I'll see you in the buff during your Acolyte Induction anyway."

"And you wont be the only one," said Hermione, her cheeks sparkling again.

Enola squealed. "Oh _Min!…_Will that be _the_ night?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry's designed a Bedding Ritual just for it."

"Oh sweet Merlin," said Neville. "Remember the one for our wedding, hun? Shook the fucking floor, it did!"

"I'll _never_ forget that, sweetie," Enola swooned. "Perhaps we should re-enact it the same night?"

Neville looked lovingly down at his wife, turning her hopeful stare into one so wanton Hermione felt the arousal across the room. "Yeah…like a vow renewal. I'll have Harry set up the Rite Space in our bedroom…maybe a ward as well. You know what happened last time."

Enola smirked. "Those poor elves." She sidled up to Hermione. "You'd _better_ find Harry, Min…its been a long time since I've been on a promise."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I will find him. Don't you worry. Now, some privacy please. I have to go and see my future mother-in-law.

* * *

He wasn't sure if it was mist, or clouds, or if it was just some sort of weird, white space. It was sort of like Kings Cross in the afterlife. Tangible, able to create form if it wanted to. Only it didn't. It wanted to stay vague and dense and unyielding. And it seemed to go everywhere. Or maybe it went nowhere. It was hard to tell.

Either way, Harry was starting to get pretty pissed off with it.

He had literally zero idea where he was. Or how long he'd been here. He remembered falling from a great height, but then he just stopped. It wasn't a landing as such, more like getting stuck on the fall. Harry spent a good while simply looking around at this unending whiteness, before he realised he could move. So he tried, first at walking pace, before moving to a brisk jog, then upgrading to a full sprint when he panicked slightly at not getting anywhere. It didn't help. He tried lots of different directions, all with the same result.

He might as well have been jogging on the spot for all the difference his efforts made.

_What the hell was this place?_ Harry could remember the ritual, it hadn't gone to plan. Enola had been struggling to hold onto him, something was pulling him the other way. It was like a sinew of the Weasley's connection to Hermione, turning him into a tether to Hermione's mind. He'd tried to kick away from it, but she wanted him to stay so much. Harry gasped.

He'd _let go_…the connection had gone to his mind with Enola's last surge of power, but he wasn't in the plane she'd opened up…that must mean he was still…that he was…

"Stuck…in _Hermione's mind?_ That shouldn't be possible," Harry said aloud. "Two souls can't inhabit one body."

But as soon as he spoke the words he knew they were true. The whiteness shifted in its sensation. It wasn't dense and smothering anymore, but pure and comforting. He was in Hermione's mind! And it was much nicer than his own, that was for sure. It was so _clean_. So ordered. Harry huffed with jealousy at it. She would have to lend him the space, he could meditate in utter peace here. It would be like a little holiday.

If he could ever get out. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? He panicked a little again. In theory, he was stuck here forever. In his own mind, the way he and Ennie had worked it, they had created a conduit for her. One that would open to her magic, so that if Harry was badly hurt and retreated into his mindscape, Enola could open her link to him and pull him out.

But he didn't have that luxury here. This was Hermione's mind, pure and unaltered. There would be no tether to the outside world, or any other person. Harry was actually glad of that. He was ridiculously possessive of Hermione now and didn't like the idea of sharing her with anyone. But he still couldn't inhabit her mind forever. He had to find a way out. This was going to take some thinking about. Harry sat down, drumming his fingers on his chin and humming as he considered the problem.

Was Hermione's mind really so undamaged, as Harry had so swiftly assumed? It didn't make sense that it _wasn't._ Ron and Riddle had truly fucked her over. So much so that Harry wasn't convinced that _any_ form of vicious death would be satisfying enough for him. With each ritual look at her psyche, Harry exposed a little more of the extent of it. He was toying with the idea of reanimating their corpses and killing them a new way every week, till he eventually got bored of it. Which he probably wouldn't. Maybe in all their shoddy spell work, the dark cunts had left an opening somewhere, something Harry could use to at least get a message out. It was his best hope.

In any case, it wouldn't hurt to have a look around.

Harry shifted around and crossed his legs. He settled his breathing into its accustomed pattern for meditation, slowing his heart till it was barely a tap against his lungs. He moved towards trance, tuning in for the tell-tale vibrations of Hermione's thoughts. Her signature was like her scent, warm and comforting. He loved when it swirled around him. The good thing about mind magic of this sort was that it was universal. Harry could pull memories easily from anyone. Except himself. He hated his own memories. For most of them scared the shit out of him. Literally.

Every time he and Enola tried to tackle one in his Dark Plane, it was always a two change of underwear trip.

But this was going to be child's play. It bothered him greatly, but Hermione's mind was so unguarded. The flimsy Occlumency shields she had were useful against only the weakest of intrusions. He knew that wasn't her fault, she'd have been severely punished for anything more stringent. And Ron had put in such control features in Hermione's mind that Harry didn't dare try to put in anything himself, lest it trigger some sort of defensive response and hurt her.

Somehow, she would just have to break those particular chains herself.

But Harry could surf gently through Hermione's memories for now, ride on the back of the ones Ron's control spells were forcing to her surface. Harry trusted Hermione's subconscious mind would give him what he needed, recognise his presence and try to join with it to fight against Ron. It might help him let her know he was there, without spooking her.

And, while he was here, maybe he could learn about these deep restriction spells Hermione was littered with. The ones that seemed to have been designed with _him_ in mind. That would be useful.

Harry just had to find where they were. Hermione would probably have compartmentalised everything, knowing her. Harry just had to find the right department. Even if she'd been unconscious when Ron spelled her, there would be a record of it in her mind. Harry needed only to find the right one, pick up on the vibration, then see if Ron had been as sloppy in his spellwork as Harry expected him to be. There would be a way to reach Hermione's conscious mind that way, and Harry could call for her help.

But the first memory Harry pulled wasn't about Ron at all. It was just Hermione, sat all alone on her bed at Hogwarts. At first, it was just her and the bed against all that stilled whiteness, then slowly the whole dorm materialised. Harry guessed she was around fourteen or so. She looked adorable. Harry had forgotten how cute she was back then. He chastised himself. He wouldn't forget that again.

He moved slowly to her, to see what she was doing. At first he thought she was making paper dolls, or else a poison pen letter. She had pages of the _Daily Prophet_ spread haphazardly out around her. And she was cutting bits out with a pair of red scissors. She was taking the utmost care with whatever she was doing; her tongue was poking out as she concentrated, her brow creased as she focused. Harry felt his heart melt at the sight. He'd forgotten she used to do all this. It was unbearably cute to see it again.

But what was she cutting out? Harry moved closer and looked over her shoulder. Then he gasped. They were pictures of him, of her, of _them_…together. Hermione cocked her head sharply and Harry jumped back on reflex. It was stupidly dumb. This was a memory, he hadn't been there at the time, so fourteen-year-old Hermione couldn't know he was there now.

Why was she cutting out pictures of them both? Harry knew what they were from. He could see Rita Skeeter's toothy picture grinning back from her by-line. The fucking Tournament. That would make Hermione fifteen, Harry thought. It made him feel slightly less creepy about ogling her as he was. But only a bit. But what was with the pictures? Hermione froze again. Voices had sounded outside the door and she hastily stuffed her cuttings under her blankets. Harry could see her visibly quivering in fright.

But the voices passed, heading to an upper bedroom. Hermione's shoulders sagged in relief and she gently eased the paper cuttings back onto her lap. Harry was amazed. Even in her haste to hide them, Hermione had managed to keep the cuttings flat and pristine. It looked like she was well practiced at this. Harry was morbidly fascinated now. What in the name of Merlin was she up to?

Then she did something totally shocking, and _kissed_ Harry's moving image on the page in her hand.

Harry's jaw fell open. He watched guiltily as Hermione hugged the picture to her chest, smiling deeply to herself. Then she gave it another chaste kiss, before reaching for her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and sliding the page into the back. One quick transfiguring spell later and it looked like just another page of the book. Hermione nodded her head in approval of a job well done, then moved on to the next cutting.

Harry felt ashamed for watching. He was intruding on something incredibly private and intimate, but he couldn't drag his eye away. It felt indecent to be doing this, and he was sure Hermione would be very angry if she ever found out, but he couldn't stop himself. For young Hermione was now holding a picture of them hugging, caught at the opportune moment, just before Harry faced that twatting Horntail. The old scar on his shoulder ached appropriately at the thought.

Hermione was stroking the picture with delicate fingers, looking at it with such reverence, such hope, such earnest desire…but also with something else. Something sorrowful. Harry hated to think it was…_resignation_…but it seemed to fit perfectly. Harry felt his heart crack as he looked at the scene. Young Hermione was daydreaming, pretending she was in a world she didn't think would ever _really_ exist. One at Harry's side, hugging him as a girlfriend would, just before he did something standardly dangerous in his warped life.

But it would never be real for her. He'd never notice her like that. So this mocked up picture was as close as she'd ever likely get. Harry knew her thoughts innately as he looked into her sad eyes. She'd read the stories as if she were someone else, believe all of Rita's embellishments, if only to indulge her heart a moment, when no-one else could see. Then she'd cast that little charm again to hide the pages, hitch the cover-smile back onto her face, and slide back into that 'friend zone' that Harry had stupidly confined her to.

And he'd never hated himself quite as powerfully as he did in that moment.

Until a moment later, when Hermione heard voices outside the room again. Only this time the door handle creaked as it turned, and Hermione dived under her covers as Lavender and Parvati entered the dorm. She was facing away from them and scrunched her eyes closed with a terrible fake snore, as the two girls settled on the farthest bed away.

Then they began to talk.

"You don't believe it, do you, Lav?" asked Parvati.

"What? About Harry and Hermione?" Lavender replied dismissively. "Of course not. I can hardly think of anything I believe _less_."

"Good. Its not just me then," said Parvati with a self-satisfied smirk. "Padma said there's a rumour going around Ravenclaw that Harry has a secret date for the Ball lined up. I told her not to put her Galleons on Hermione."

Lavender spat out an acidic laugh. "Oh, Merlin no! Good sisterly advice, that. Can you _imagine_ if Harry rocked up to the Yule Ball with _that?_ Never mind Harry not living down the shame, fucking _Hogwarts_ would struggle to get over it. We'd forever be the laughing stock of Europe!"

Parvati giggled. "No, Harry's got too much class and sense for that. He'll probably go with one of those French slags. Get some French kissing and a hand-job, if he's lucky."

"I'd give him a hand job," said Lavender thoughtfully.

"Lav!" Parvati shrieked quietly and burst into giggles again.

"What? I would," said Lavender, unabashed. "Maybe I will, just to make Hermione cry."

"Do you reckon she fancies him, then?"

"Of course, that's fucking _obvious_," said Lavender. "Have you seen how she looks at him pretty much all the time? Especially when she knows he isn't looking back? And he can't look back very much."

"Probably because he doesn't want to show pity…or be sick," added Parvati. "Only looks at her when he has to."

"I sat next to her at Quidditch once," said Lavender. "Didn't watch a minute of the game. Just glued her eyes on Harry. It's pathetic. There's Bob, there's Hope, then there's No Hope! As _if_ he'd ever fancy _her_."

"They've been spending a lot of time together…alone," said Parvati. "Maybe they're being naughty on those long walks around the Lake. Who knows."

Lavender scoffed. "Hermione? Naughty? Have you swallowed a dodgy potion? I don't think there's a charm strong enough untwist the knots in _her_ knickers. As if Harry would want to put his hands down them anyway. Something might bite him!"

Parvati was rocking by now. She gathered herself after a minute or so. "Its a fair question, though. Why else would they be going off together so secretly?"

"They are rowing with Ron, aren't they?" Lavender pondered. "Maybe that's why. Some fucked up sort of love triangle. That wouldn't end well for Ron. And if Harry _has_ gone mental and wants to fool around with Hermione, the Lake _is_ pretty secluded round the back. No-one would see. And if someone did, he could always feed her to the Giant Squid and make it look like an accident!"

"Lav stop!" Parvati giggled. "I'm going to break a rib here…Hermione _is_ asleep, isn't she?"

"I thought you checked."

"No, I thought you did."

"Oops," said Lavender. She got up and padded over to Hermione, peeking at her pretend-sleeping form. Then she gave a thumbs-up to Parvati, and tip-toed back to her.

"Maybe we should go…just in case," Parvati whispered.

"Yeah, maybe we disturbed her having a wank," said Lavender. "Not like anyone else will ever touch her, is it?"

Parvati chortled again. Harry just fumed and raged as he watched the two vacuous Gryffindors bitch about his love. He looked down at Hermione's body. Her eyes were closed but no longer scrunched, and she was holding herself quite still. Only one thing moved on her…a single tear that was sliding down her cheek. Harry's thudding heart competed with his anger for dominance, but there was nothing he could do. This was in the past, it had already happened.

Hermione had suffered all alone. And Harry had been there to fail her.

The image faded, leaving Harry to wallow in his misery. He would find a way out of this, make everything up to her. He felt so awful. What made it worse was that he had _loved her_ when this had happened. He didn't know it at the time, but the revelation would have opened his eyes even then. He loved her…and he let her be broken down like this. Why had _this_ memory come to him? Was it some sort of torture? It felt like that.

But a new image was forming, it took Harry's attention away. Hermione was lurking at the bottom of one of the spiral staircases of Hogwarts. Or was she hiding? Harry couldn't tell, but she was the same age as the last memory, pacing around fretfully. Why would she be acting so suspiciously? And why did she look so unspeakably nervous? Harry moved closer and saw Hermione was mouthing something to herself, her voice nothing more than a wisp of breath.

"Would you like to go…I was wondering, seeing as neither of us have…no, that's dumb, he'll think I'm taking pity, or asking for some," Hermione was muttering lowly, her features anxious and strained. She wrung her hands together fitfully and took a heaving breath. "Right, start again…phew…you don't need to ask anyone else, cos I've liked you for _ages_ and I'd just _love_ to go with you, I've just never found a good time to say…yes, I like that…

"Right…_Harry_ \- I've liked you for _so_ long, _ages_, really…and I'd be _so_ happy if you took _me _to the Ball…I _know_ I've never said anything before but, there's never been a good time, has there? What with trolls and basilisks and hippogriffs and…what? You like me too? Oh _Harry…_really? Oh…mwah mwah mwah…"

The final words were lost against the back of Hermione's palm, where she was frenetically kissing it. But then…voices…up on the stairwell. Hermione froze, took a steeling breath and repeated over and over, with trembling lips, '_you can do this, you can do this…'_ She took one stair and the voices were suddenly right above her, just out of view. One was very familiar.

It should have been. It was Harry's.

"Willyougoballwithme?"

Harry's heart sank. He knew what this was, when it was, but it made it a memory he knew would hurt to see. He didn't want to look at Hermione, couldn't bare to see that expression. But something told him he had to. This was important somehow.

But it was the hardest thing.

The level of disappointment on young Hermione's face was unprecedented. It was like her entire world had collapsed on top of her. Harry's heart raced with sorrow as he watched her expression drop to the floor. She clutched at her chest, as if struggling to breathe. Then her head bowed and her entire body sagged. She tucked in behind the bannister to retrieve her always-overweighted school satchel. She heaved it onto her shoulder with a broken groan, then slumped off sadly down a deserted corridor, wiping the once-kissed back of her hand across her glistening cheeks.

Harry fell to his knees as the scene faded. "Why are you showing me these things?" he asked aimlessly into the light. "My heart is breaking here. I don't want to see any more."

But there was more.

Hermione materialised again in front of him. Older, maybe by a couple of years. She was sat on a bed again, but it wasn't Hogwarts. Harry didn't recognise the neatly ordered room around her. Hermione was holding her wand in shaking fingers, aiming it at a book. It was like she was trying to cast a spell at it, but couldn't remember the incantation or wand-movement. In any case, the attempted spell was disrupted with every swish by a shrill hiss.

"I have to, Crookshanks, I just have to!" Hermione moaned. "It's the only way."

Crookshanks mewled angrily at the end of the bed. His claws were dug sharply into the quilt.

"Don't you be cross with me, too," Hermione whispered, her eyes watery. "I've already had the lecture from Mum…but she doesn't get it, doesn't understand."

Crookshanks meowed his disagreement.

"No, not even _you_ do, my sweet," said Hermione. She sighed heavily. "I can't be _in_ _love_ with him_, _Crooksie…I just _can't_!"

Crookshanks simply stood, pointed his bottle-brush tail into the air in resigned defeat, and stomped away out of the room. Hermione looked to the ceiling for guidance. None was forthcoming. So she returned to her book, flicking to the back pages again. She finally touched her wand-tip to the corner of one, setting it gently alight. She wept as the page curled and separated under the controlled, bluebell flame, and Harry watched his own facsimile turn to ash…as the already burned pictorial Hermione's arms flung around his neck one last time…

"Hermione! Stop!" Harry called fruitlessly.

But she didn't. She repeated the process on all her enchanted pages. Harry watched in dumbstruck horror as she did so. Watched her erase all traces of her secret love for him. When she was done, she looked so pale she could have been admitted to St Mungo's for evaluation. Was being heartbroken a disease? If it was, Harry was its latest victim. He would need Cassie's strongest Calming Draught to get over this, and months of ritual meditation.

Though Hermione wasn't done. Once _Hogwarts: A History_ had been liberated of its extra pages, Hermione turned the wand on herself. She pointed the tip at her very heart, and cast a silent spell. It settled on her with a dull, grey glow. Then she moved her wand to her temple, and pulled a silken, silvery thread from her skin. A memory…the record of whatever she'd just done to herself. She didn't store it, didn't whip out a vial to keep it in. She just flicked her wand and let the memory strand fall away into the air, where it crisped up like the burning pages and disappeared into nothing.

Hermione changed in a moment. She appeared bright, if weary. She picked up a brush and swept away a ring of salt that Harry hadn't noticed around the bed. An ancient form of privacy ward she'd cast around herself. Clever, Harry thought. Her underage magic would have gone unnoticed. But what had she done? Harry had no idea.

And no time to ponder, as the scene shifted once more. The vision this time drove Harry to maddening anger.

For Hermione was asleep, but glowing under the influence of a containment ward. She was being spelled to unconsciousness. Harry threw a punch at the one pointing his wand at her, but his spectral fist passed right through Ron Weasley's ginger fucking head. Harry tried again, just in case. But it was useless. Then a voice spoke, and it chilled Harry to the bone.

It was Tom Riddle.

"She is ripe. She will give you a son."

Harry forgot how to breathe. He stared in blunted shock as Riddle placed his hands on Hermione's womb. He had _touched her! _Harry felt physically sick. Riddle had placed his dirty, filthy hands on the most precious thing in Harry's world. How dare he! That fucking snake cunt!

"Thank you, my Lord," Ron simpered. Harry riled violently. Riddle had _touched_ Hermione…and Ron had _let_ him! Oh…the horrors Harry was going to visit on that treacherous little back-stabbing piece of Thestral smegma! They would write songs about it.

"You may never have her heart," said Riddle. "There's something there I sense…a barrier of some sort. Interesting magic. Not that it should matter to you."

"It doesn't, Exalted One."

"Good. Take what you need and get rid of the spare," said Riddle.

"Is it dangerous? This barrier…or what its guarding against?" asked Ron.

"Only if Harry Potter comes back from the grave," Riddle spat. "It has something to do with him, that much is certain. Perhaps he has stored something behind it. I never did learn what this mythical '_power-he-knows-not'_ might have been. He could have hidden it here for all we know. He was close to this one, yes?"

"He was, O…._thou_," Ron offered, almost grovelling.

"Hmm," said Riddle. "There's power in this abhorration of magic you married. It's linked to Potter. If he ever returned, he might find a way to utilise it."

"Such a thing is impossible, Lord," said Ron earnestly. "You destroyed that half-blood, half-wit!"

Riddle chuckled mirthlessly in response. "It was a great day. But he still has support out there. And magic has all sorts of wild possibilities."

"So…Harry _could_ come back?" Ron asked, somewhat aghast.

"I, myself, have practised the Necromantic Arts," said Riddle. "One can never say never. And those who fail to plan can only plan to fail. This…_thing_…in her…it concerns me. And, under Potter's influence, she tends to become extremely powerful…you did come very close to wounding me, young Weasley."

"We were blind, misguided, foolish," Ron pleaded. "We did not know the true way…the Way of Your Light. But we have atoned…we continue to atone…to seek forgiveness for our mistakes. Please…tell me what I must do, and I will do it."

"You must give her to me," said Riddle coldly.

"You...you want to have Hermione?" said Ron in surprise. "But…my Lord…forgive my impudence…but you promised her to me… for giving you McGonagall…for giving you the orphaned child of Remus Lupin."

Harry's heart stopped cold in his throat. Ron had done…what the fuck had he done? Harry was beyond anger, the stunned shock was completely holding him. He took a series of steadying breaths to rein his fury in…he might give Hermione an aneurysm if he lost control of himself in here.

"And she is your prize well earned," Riddle was saying. Harry struggled to drag his mind back to the scene. "But she is also a danger to me. I cannot allow this."

"Of course, O King," said Ron, bowing his head. "She is yours."

"As must you be," said Riddle.

"I - I don't understand," Ron stammered.

"I ordained your marriage," said Riddle. "Your Matrimonial Bond contains my signature."

"And what a blessing it is, Lord," Ron simpered, bowing lower.

"A blessing I have another need for," Riddle went on, ignoring Ron's quest for favour. "You will open up your Bond to me. I will draw its power to protect something very important to me. Should Potter ever return, he will need to destroy the roots of this protection if he is foolish enough to try and resume his fight with me. I'm telling you a very great secret, Weasley, and bestowing on you a great honour. You and your filth wife will forever protect your Immortal Lord."

Ron fell to his knees. "Oh thank you, Lord, _thank you_! You will not regret it. We will prove the error of our ways, show that we are the most loyal, most loving supporters of your Greatness."

"You had better," said Riddle. "Or you will suffer my wrath."

Ron quailed under the look Riddle gave to him just then. And the scene dissipated away.

Harry slumped to his knees and tried to process all he'd just seen. He knew what it meant, but didn't want to think about it. Instead, he had to think of a way _around_ it. But there didn't seem to be one. Harry's mind span at the implications. Riddle might just have out-thought him on this one. What was the answer?

The prophecy was clear…Harry had the power to defeat the Dark Lord, and his parents had taken steps to make sure Riddle couldn't kill _him. _But was there more to it? Could Harry access an _actual_ power source? One so devastating Riddle had no defence against it? And was that power somehow locked _inside_ Hermione? That didn't make any sense. If she was so important, surely the prophecy would have mentioned her.

But wasn't that why his mum and sent Harry back? To get Hermione? Did she know more than she'd let on about her when she coaxed him off that train? Harry's brain swam at all this new information. He couldn't process it. And he couldn't discuss it with anyone, stuck here as he was in Hermione's mind.

He had to get out, he was mindless with the necessity of it now. Hermione was in the gravest of dangers…and if she did something stupid, or if Neville made her…Harry couldn't look that reality in the face. There had to be a way out, there just had to be. If only someone could see him in here. _See him_…of course! Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. This would be hard, it would definitely hurt like hell, but it might be the only way.

He settled down cross-legged again, slowing his breathing, steadying his heart, reaching deep inside in this practiced rhythm.

He just hoped would be enough to let him reach _out_.

* * *

For a few moments, Hermione just blinked at her. She had the most astonishing eyes. Emerald green, of course, and sparkling with energy and humour. Hermione couldn't look directly at them for very long. It was almost blinding. And she had a delicate sort of smile. It gave her an understated beauty which was at once hard to spot, but mesmerising once you did.

And Hermione understood immediately why Harry had been so enchanted with his own mother. It was hard to look away from her.

For the longest time, Hermione didn't know what to say. She felt shy, humble in her presence. But calm also. Lily Potter had a magical sort of energy around her. It was like a magnet, and Hermione felt drawn to it.

"You know, for a moment there, I was getting rather frantic. I thought that Harry would _never_ wake up to the beauty of a wonderfully intellectual girl like yourself," said Lily, eventually. "But I'm ever so pleased he finally did. He is so much like his father in many other ways…thankfully he is his own man in affairs of the heart.

"And its so _wonderful_ to finally meet you, Hermione."

Hermione blushed hotly. "But you were very clever, Mrs Potter. Your charm work was legendary at Hogwarts. Harry's dad can't have been _totally_ dense."

"But I was also brash and uncouth," said Lily. "I had beauty and talent and I flaunted it. I defied James because we were so alike. I wanted him to be _my_ trophy, not the other way around. Merlin, how we fought! I was too dumb then to appreciate the subtly of gentility. I see how you are with my Harry…how you _always_ were with him…and it soothes my heart. You've done so much good for him, I could never thank you enough."

Hermione had never flushed so much in her life. She was sure every inch of her skin was a varying degree of scarlet.

"He's worth every effort," said Hermione, shyly. "Though he can be very trying at times."

Lily laughed. "What lover isn't, my dear? But you are the best match he could possibly have. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that you both realise it now. That you realise what you are to each other."

Hermione took a breath. "That's what I came here for. I have a problem and I'm hoping you can help."

Lily smiled brightly. "I know what you are here for, Hermione. And I think, if you are honest with yourself, you do, too."

Hermione frowned. "If I knew _that_, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

"You miss my meaning, sweetheart," said Lily patiently. "I think you know why you're here, but you need someone else to tell you."

Hermione took a breath. "Then…you do know?"

Lily nodded. "I do."

"How?"

"Your mother told me," said Lily, softly.

Hermione gasped. "My…my _mother?_ Is she…is she here."

Lily shook her head sadly. "Her and your father are resting for a while. It takes a lot of adjustment to have strength in this place, to speak to the living. Even I wont be able to stay too long."

"But you have seen her?"

"Yes," Lily nodded. "When Harry performed their burial rite he used his family ring to summon James, asked him to be their guide here. James was delighted, of course. After all, they will be family one day."

Lily winked at Hermione, who wanted to coil up and hide she felt so humbled.

"We've spent a great deal of time talking with them," Lily went on. "We want to know everything about you. You're the love of our little boy's life, the girl he wants so much to marry. And we would be so, _so_ proud, to have you as our daughter-in-law."

Hermione's lip trembled. "Mrs Potter…am I able to…hug you…_here_?"

"Yes, I think -"

But the sentence was lost somewhere in Hermione's expanse of hair as she clobbered Lily with an almighty bear hug. Lily was stunned at first, then simply laughed as Hermione squeezed her tight. She returned the hug until Hermione eventually disentangled herself and slipped away.

"I…I-I cant tell you how much that means to me," Hermione stuttered through joyous sobs. "To h-hear you say that. Harry wants so much to be approved of by you…a-and so do I. I want to be worthy of him, for _you _to think I am."

Lily smiled warmly at Hermione. "I do, we both do, James and I. That's why I told Harry to go back. It wasn't just for him…it was for _you_ as well."

Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "For _me_? How?"

"Hermione, dear, I've watched Harry skirt around his feelings for you since he saved you from that troll when he was just eleven," said Lily. "He threw himself into mortal danger for a girl, one that he hardly knew. What would make him do that? Some moral idiocy? No, not even James was that stupid. And Harry hasn't gone quite that mindless for anyone else. He acted out for you _on instinct_, as if it were somehow _natural_ for him to do so. No, I've come to think that there's much more to it than meets the eye.

"He was drawn to you, maybe you were drawn to each other. So I had to know who you were. I watched you closely, both on your own and during your interactions with my son. And Harry just kept doing it, kept putting himself in harms way to try and protect you. It was an innate reaction for him, I could see that much. But then you started protecting him right back. In subtle ways, and brave ways, but always with his best interests close to your heart.

"I knew then that there was something special about you, about your relationship. Meeting you is the best thing to have ever happened to him, in ways he still doesn't fully understand or appreciate now. You've made him into a better man, made him _want_ to be better, just for you, without him really knowing that was his motivation. Have you noticed how he seeks your approval in everything? How all that he does is for you in some way? He just didn't realise _why_ that was the case until I told him."

"And w-why was it?" Hermione asked, her voice the tiniest it had been in her natural life.

"I think Harry has been in love with you his entire life, before he even met or knew you," said Lily. "You bring to him everything he lacks - coolness, logic, reason. You make him _think_, whereas normally he lets his heart and passion run away with him. And you…he stirs _your_ heart, lets it dominate where your wonderful mind normally has control. Don't you see? You are two halves - one mind, one heart…and together you make _one soul_."

Hermione couldn't think straight as the words hit her. It made such utter sense, such a ridiculously veritable truth that it might as well have been a divine proclamation. Harry was, quite literally, her _other half_. How had she not known it before? It was a truth that screamed through her every fibre. But, still, that barrier…

"If that's true, why can't I let him in fully though?" Hermione asked, desperately. "I _so_ want to. It isn't the sex issue, is it?"

Lily laughed out loud. "Oh no, sweetheart, and trust me, the sex wont be an issue. I've seen Harry's Bedding Ritual. Merlin knows where he thought _that_ one up! Seriously, James and I are going to have to take a holiday to outer space to avoid _that_ awkwardness."

Hermione blushed shyly. "Is it that bad?"

Lily looked shrewdly at her future daughter-in-law. "Well, that all depends on how you define _bad_…"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "Wow. Okay."

"As for why you can't let him in," Lily went on. "You know why. You were scared. You took steps to avoid that fear. Now its a barrier in your way. You have to face your terrifying love for my son…again. Only this time, you have to face yourself too, and conquer your fears over both."

"I did this…to _myself_?" asked Hermione, confused. "I don't remember that. Oh…did I remove my own memory?"

"You really are the smartest witch of your age," said Lily approvingly. "You thought of everything. But its actually turned out rather in our favour."

"I cant join fully with your son, I see that as a total loss!" Hermione countered.

"Its just a spell, it can be undone," said Lily. "But what it has done is protected you from Harry…or from Harry being used against you. Tom Riddle always underestimated how violent a power love could be. "

"I don't think I understand."

"Yes you do, just stop doubting yourself," said Lily. "I don't have much more time. I'm weakening."

"Mrs Potter! That isn't an answer! I need to know -"

"You already know, you've guessed it," said Lily. "All you have to work out is how to use Tom's mistake against him. Use that beautiful brain of yours."

"And what about Harry?"

"If you want to find Harry, all you have to do is _look inside_. He's always there."

"And does he know about this barrier I have?"

"Of course he does, but only you can break through it. Farewell…daughter."

Hermione huffed. "Fucking spirits…always so cryptic!"

"Mind your language!" teased Lily Potter's disembodied voice. "There are dead people here! A little respect, please."

"Sorry, Mrs Potter," said Hermione guiltily. "Will you tell my mum I said hello?"

"Hermione says fucking hello!" Hermione heard Lily say. She cringed at the sound. "Yes, her language _has_ gotten terrible, I quite agree. Our kids, eh? Don't know where they fucking get it from!"

Hermione laughed then settled her mind. She crushed the crystal in her hand and hoped she'd set up the ritual correctly. It was imperative that she got home alright. She had a _lot_ to think about.

* * *

Neville shook his head at Sir David Pincott again. His words didn't make sense.

"What do you mean…_an army_?" Neville asked for the fourth time.

"Exactly what I said," Sir David replied.

"They've assembled an army…in _France,_" Neville repeated.

"Yes."

"The Muggles have?"

"As I said. I forget how many times."

"And this picture…" said Neville, pointing at a photograph on the desk in front of him. It showed a piece of military hardware. "This is…_what_, exactly?"

"A mobile missile delivery system," Sir David explained. "And on top of it is a tactical nuclear warhead."

"You're taking the piss!" Patrick O'Brien yelled, grabbing the photo. "They aren't going to _nuke_ England?"

"Tom Riddle executed the Monarch of Great Britain on a worldwide video sharing website," said Sir David. "Some people take umbridge at that sort of thing."

"So they're going to wipe the country out for it?" Frank Longbottom exclaimed.

"Looks that way," said Sir David. "They've declared Britain _an enemy of the free world_. They've declared war on the country."

"Where are the European Magical governments on this?" asked Frank. "Surely they should be on our side."

"Don't bank on it, Dad," said Neville darkly. "If the Muggles are promising to get rid of Riddle, they will probably leave them to it. Besides, this report says the army is hundreds of thousands strong. Bullets kill magicals too, don't forget."

"For fucks sake," Frank yelled. "We can't allow it. We have to do something."

"Maybe we _should_ just leave them to it," said Owain Glyndwr Jones, from a chair nearby. "If it will kill Riddle…"

"Owain!" Neville admonished. "You do know what nuclear weapons do, don't you? They are the most terrible things…there wont be a Britain left to save if this happens."

"Then we have to strike first," said Lord Kelvin Angus. He handed Neville a two-way communication mirror. "Contact Xian Lee. He's Harry's Muggle Tech contact at the ZGD. He can send a code, in Chinese, which will arm some of the nuclear weapons in the US. When they go off, the Americans will think China is starting a war with them…and they'll respond. And we'll be left alone."

"And we'll start a war that will kill millions! _Reducto!"_

Neville turned as the mirror shattered in his hand. Hermione stalked across the room, her wand raised and throbbing with magic, Enola and Myfanwy tight on her heels. She didn't stop until she reached Lord Angus. He recoiled from her furious anger.

"My Lady…I was just thinking…"

"No!" Hermione thundered. "Thinking was the _last_ thing you were doing! If I ever hear you _thinking_ with your cock again, I'll cut it off with a rusty spoon. This is a war, not a dick-measuring contest. Are we clear?"

Lord Angus gulped. "Very clear, my Lady."

"Good," said Hermione. "Now, is there anyone _sensible_ in this room? Someone who can suggest a non-fucktarded course of action?"

"The ICW may be able to intervene," said Sir David, stepping forwards. "They placed the exit wards on Britain. I'd imagine they'd have to take them down before any attack could take place."

"Then we can assume this army is liaising in some fashion with the ICW," said Hermione. "We need to get out of Britain, make contact. How do we do that?"

"_We_ don't," said Neville.

"But Harry did," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, and only him," said Neville. "Harry was given special dispensation to cross the wards. But he's a bit out of action right now…unless your little _trip_ yielded something useful?"

"Nothing that we can enact quickly enough," said Hermione. "How did Harry negotiate an exit? He must have been in touch with someone on the outside."

"No, it was more like they were _hoping_ he might come out," said Neville. "They built a workaround into the ward - if a magical Potter tried to come out, the wards would let them. They thought Harry might be reincarnated, or possess someone. Its a bit fucked up, really."

Hermione grinned. "But it plays to our favour."

"How so?"

"For a Potter can _still_ get out…_me_."

"That's a sweet idea," said Neville. "But that isn't official."

"To fuck with official," Hermione huffed. "Harry and I…we are _one_. In everything but the silly legalities. I am the other half of Harry's _soul_. I've always been his wife, always been a Potter, I just haven't said '_I do_' yet. Rhian!"

The elf popped next to Hermione. "Yes, Mistress?"

"You are Harry's elf, yes?" asked Hermione.

"And be proud of it, Mistress," said Rhian puffing out her little chest.

"So do you only answer to Harry?"

The elf considered her swarthily. "Obey Master Harry, yes…but also obey Mistress Hermione, too."

Hermione smiled at her. "You don't have to _obey_ anyone."

"Rhian knows this," said Rhian. "But I's choose to serve Master Harry and Mistress Hermione. I be proud to. The Potters be the bestest family…Rhian love being part of it."

Hermione knelt down. "And we love you being part of our family, too. But why do you come to me, as well as Harry, if we aren't married?"

"Mistress Hermione be Master Harry's Lady, his mate, Lady of the House," said Rhian. "Only missing a wedding…and a ring…then can get rid of horrible Weasel name."

"I'm so looking forward to that day," said Hermione. "But is there anything else I can do in the meantime? To prove I'm Harry's Lady? That I'm going to be Hermione Potter as soon as I can be?"

Rhian thought a moment. Then her bulbous eyes lit up. "Yous can wear the Potter family ring! Master Harry be getting it from Queenie Liz lately. Poor Queenie. Snake man be horrid wizard."

"And how will that help?" asked Hermione.

It was Neville who answered. "Family jewellery is ancient and uniquely powerful. They contain the accumulated power of all those who wear a piece through a family's history. They are symbols of status, and power also. Only someone who has been truly accepted into a family, by its own magic, can wear familial jewellery."

Hermione grinned confidently. "Rhian, would you please retrieve Harry's family ring for me?"

Rhian nodded, then snapped away. Thirty seconds later she was back, the red and gold encrusted ring in her hand. She offered it to Hermione.

"It come off easy," said Rhian. "It knows it going to good hands."

Hermione started at that. She wasn't entirely sure she liked the idea of inanimate objects that could think and feel for themselves, but she pushed the notion aside for now. She took the ring in trembling fingers. It was way too big for her own dainty digit, but she tried it anyway. And it slid on, resizing instantly as if it were designed for her.

And everyone in the room dropped to one knee, raising their wands in a gesture of salute.

Hermione blushed crimson and urged everyone back up. She turned to Neville.

"You know where Harry used to cross the international wards?"

Neville nodded. "I'll get my cloak. Fan…I'd really appreciate you having my back out there."

"I am your sword and your shield, Lord Longbottom," Myfanwy replied with a wink.

"Min…is there anything we can do while you're gone?" asked Enola.

"Speak to Luna, have her show her daughter around the ritual room," said Hermione.

"Why?"

"Because, when I get back, me and little Celesca are going on a big girls trip," said Hermione. "She's going to take me deep into Harry's mind…and I don't want her to be frightened of the voyage."

Enola nodded and turned from the room, leaving Hermione to contemplate a terrifying voyage of her own. This wasn't France for skiing…it was to prevent a world war.


	12. White Noise

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. **Extra Disclaimer:** mention of Harry's physical abuse as a child

* * *

Neville drove the Sword of Gryffindor into the face of the Section Seven agent fallen at his feet. It was a mercy, really, after Myfanwy's Blasting Curse had cracked his skull, leaving his body twitching and writhing rather disgustingly. Hermione, meanwhile, was busy transfiguring the tonsils of the Death Eater garrison commander into a large spike, which promptly burst free through a tear in his throat.

The sounds of his gargling for air, through a rush of blood, was really quite satisfying.

"I _so_ wish I had your imagination for things like that," said Myfanwy, nodding approvingly at Hermione's handiwork. "I'm more of a blunt force trauma, bludgeoning sort of girl myself."

"But you do it with such artistry!" Hermione grinned back. "Thanks guys, I think I can take it from here."

"We aren't going anywhere," said Neville, wiping off blood from the sword onto the Agent's shirt. "We will hold the garrison fort until you come back. You aren't returning without an escort."

"It's too dangerous," said Hermione.

"So's Harry's temper," Myfanwy quirked. "And he will _not_ be happy if he hears we left you to fend for yourself out here."

"It's really pointless to argue," said Neville. "Just stop dawdling and go. Before those bombs starting raining down on our heads."

Hermione huffed, then just gave to it. She turned and pulled herself up onto the Apparition parapet, took one last look at Neville and Myfanwy, then disappeared through the restriction ward surrounding the island of Britain.

Hermione's first thought on hitting solid ground in Calais was one of wild elation. For, by allowing her out, the ward had truly recognised her as a Potter. She felt such a powerful surge of love for Harry in that moment that she clutched at her heart to stop it jumping out of her chest in the excitement. Determined to master the girlish grin which had sprung up on her face, Hermione took a series of steadying breaths of the salty, coastal air, letting the sun warm her face.

Then two pairs of rugged hands grabbed her roughly from each side.

Hermione didn't even have time to be afraid, for what happened next shocked her as much as the poor security guards on the receiving end of it. For as soon their aggressive hands touched her, Hermione felt a wave of dense magic erupt from the ring on her finger. It crashed through her body and violently repelled the two security wizards who were attempting to manhandle her. They were thrown bodily backwards, easily ten feet away, where they slammed into the decking of the Apparition Station.

One jumped up and attempted to fire a containment spell at Hermione. Ropes uncoiled from his wand and raced towards her, but the ring responded again. It sent out a gout of fire, which manifested into a flaming dragon head and incinerated the ropes before they got anywhere near. The second guard fired off a Stunning spell in his panic. That was a mistake. The ring simply pulled Hermione's hand up and absorbed the jet of red light, concentrated it, then sent it arrowing back with ten times the original force.

The last Hermione saw of the guard was his flailing body, disappearing over the railings of the access stairwell to the Apparition platform a further twenty feet back.

Hermione was giddy on power now, emboldened from the heady protection of the Potters, that was encasing her like an impenetrable cocoon. She felt it throb and pulse all through her like an electric charge. She felt supreme, invincible. She would have backed herself in duel against Tom Riddle himself in this state. And she could feel Harry, his protective aura was swirling all around her. She closed her eyes at his signature, wishing it was his touch, but feeling utterly safe under his care.

With a surge of courage she moved forward to face the one guard blocking her path. He was young, much younger than her. Maybe still a teenager. And he looked petrified, with wide, staring eyes and a trembling jaw. Hermione took pity on him.

"Parle Anglais?"

The guard nodded.

"Good." said Hermione. "I'm not here to hurt you, or to fight with you. But I don't have the luxury of you wasting my time. I have to get to the ICW Headquarters. You will open the Apparition portal to there. Do you have the relevant clearance for that?"

The guard nodded again, but didn't move.

Hermione frowned at him. "Then get to it. I've bested you and you friend without even drawing my wand. You do _not_ want me to do that."

With a little raspy squeak, the guard jumped up. He darted into a little booth and hit some configuration runes on a control panel, then motioned Hermione forwards.

"Thank you," she said, offering a little smile. "Oh, and tell your friend I'm sorry. I hope he isn't too badly hurt."

Then magic cascaded around her and Hermione Apparated away.

She landed deftly and shook off the last of the adrenaline running through her. She had been mildly panicked that the guard might have tricked her, and that she would have ended up being Splinched on the other end, or else lost in the ether of teleportation limbo. Calming herself, she looked around to assess her circumstances.

She was at the steps of a large, imposing building. Flags of every nation fluttered on long poles, dotted around a large, open garden with a giant fountain at the centre. Witches and wizards hurried around her, some shunting her irritably from the Apparition point she was still occupying. She huffed at them and moved off, resisting to urge to hex them for their impudence.

The European Headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards was in Geneva, which accounted for the smatterings of French and German Hermione could pick up all around her. The notable absence of English was quite disconcerting. She hurried through the crowds, past a group of young witches catching rays in the late September sun (and wondering if she'd have ever had the courage to simply strip down to her bra on her lunch break) and up the steps to the oak-panelled and marble building ahead of her. The logo of the ICW was emblazoned large on the huge glass doors and Hermione was suddenly anxious about where she was.

Not to mention what she was trying to do.

She entered the building into a vast, indoor courtyard. There was a circular reception desk at the centre, with innumerable doors set into royal blue-tiled walls. The upper floors were so numerous that they disappeared into a dark grey mist high above the ground floor. Hermione swallowed hard and moved forwards to the large, imposing wizard manning the desk.

He spoke in French, the official language of the ICW in Europe.

"What can I do for you today?"

Luckily for Hermione, her mother's family had lived in France for many years and Hermione had picked up enough of the language to comfortably hold a conversation.

"I need to speak to the most senior person I can, on the most urgent of matters," Hermione replied.

"You are English," said the wizard, flipping languages easily.

"How could you tell?" asked Hermione.

"Your accent is not native and your vocab is quite obscure," the wizard replied. "What is an English woman doing here?"

"Trying to save my country while I still have time," said Hermione bluntly. "Now, who can I see?"

"No-one. The ICW Council is currently in session. Europe is in a state of emergency, as I'm sure you well know."

"I do know. The Council is sitting right now? Good. Take me there."

The wizard eyed her coldly. "That isn't how it works Miss…er…"

Hermione scowled at him. "Potter…and it's _Mrs_ to you."

The wizard changed in an instant, shifting to a very awkward pose.

"Potter…not…_the_ Potter?"

"The very same," said Hermione coolly. She thrust her hand forward and showed him the Potter Family ring. "Proof enough? Now…are you going to call someone, or do I have to tell my husband that you were so infuriatingly difficult with me?"

"No, no, Mrs Potter, that will be quite unnecessary," the wizard pleaded quickly. All colour had suddenly drained from his face. "If you will…j-just give me a moment. Please."

Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh. She had to admit it was a little arousing to see how Harry stirred such fear in people, simply for defying him. The wizard busied himself with several parchment memos, before tossing them into a miniature Floo fire on his desk. He turned back to her with apologetic eyes.

"I'm sure somebody will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," said Hermione. "I'll just take a seat over here. Could you fetch me a glass of water, please? Its very hot today."

"Yes, Mrs Potter, right away."

Hermione swooned. She could _so_ get used to this. _Mrs Potter_. She wanted to keep taunting the hapless reception wizard just so he would keep saying her assumed name. She literally couldn't wait for the day when it became her real name. Hermione Potter. She couldn't wait. She curled her toes with the very notion of it.

Hermione waited for several minutes in the reception courtyard. She frowned a little at the opulence - fresh, Swiss alpine water was all very well, but surely a standard glass from the tap would represent a better use of resources. Fucking politicians. Muggle, Magic it didn't matter. All on the bloody take. She'd like to burn the lot of them.

She was stirred from her dark reverie by the arrival of a powerfully built, and ruggedly handsome, wizard. She blushed slightly under his gaze. He had piercing dark eyes and and a shock of hazel-blonde hair. It was a good job she was already in love, or else she might have been captivated a moment. But the initial burst passed in a flash and Hermione smiled to herself. It was as if Harry had sensed her eyeing up another man and gave her a gentle nudge to remind her of her sensibilities.

"Well, well, well," said the wizard, his accent slick and undoubtedly German. "Harry went and got himself a wife, did he? And such a pretty one, too."

"And if he hears you've been flirting with me he might castrate you," said Hermione coolly. Weirdly, her initial attraction had completely faded and she felt guilty now for betraying Harry. She decided she would make up for it by being cross.

"Oh, Harry knows me better than that," said the German wizard, sitting opposite Hermione and lounging back into the black leather seat. "If only for the amount of times he refused to come to my bed."

Hermione blinked in surprise, her mouth forming a startled little 'o'. "You prefer wizards then?"

"Oh fuck yes," he replied. "One taste of pussy was quite enough for me. Give me a rock hard cock any day, Harry's if you can swing it. I'm Dietmar Friedrich, by the way. And you _must_ be Hermione."

"I must be?"

"Harry only ever talked about one girl in the three years he apprenticed with me," Dietmar explained. "So I'm assuming you're her. There's no way on God's green Earth he'd marry anyone else. He made quick work of getting you down the aisle, didn't he? Curious…I never really saw Harry as the charmer-sort."

"Oh, well," said Hermione, airily as her cheeks coloured. "I guess you can say I did a lot of the work there."

"And he must also have made quick work of your _other_ husband," said Dietmar shrewdly. Hermione baulked under his gaze and she felt sure he was probing her mind. She _had_ to get around to building a better defensive mental barrier.

"You lie very badly," said Dietmar, but he was smiling at her. "You needn't worry, Miss Hermione. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, it's only a white lie. You are wearing his ring, after all. May I?"

Hermione sheepishly offered her hand, which Dietmar took.

"Fascinating, the power in this is _incredible._ I must say, you're holding it very well. Not overwhelmed by it?"

"It was a bit dizzying at first," Hermione admitted. "But it's Harry's…he calmed me down, helped me to absorb it."

"So, I suppose the big question is why are _you_ here wearing Harry's ring? I imagine you've come to plead for Britain's safety on his behalf. Why hasn't he come himself?"

"A ritual went a little wrong," said Hermione, deciding it was pointless to lie. "Harry's alive but undergoing treatment to repair the damage. Then this threat arose and I was the only one who could act in Harry's place."

"So here you are," said Dietmar, releasing Hermione's hand and leaning back again. "What do you hope to do?"

"Make an appeal to the ICW," said Hermione. "Hope to persuade them not to drop the wards on Britain…then give us time to get rid of Tom Riddle ourselves."

Dietmar took a breath. "As much as I'd like to encourage you, Miss Hermione, I wouldn't be hopeful. The ICW supports the impending Muggle attack on Britain. King Voldemort threatens us all. He has promised a full-scale war on magical Europe once he breaks through the containment wards."

"Which is why you must let me speak to the ICW," said Hermione desperately. "The attack will do nothing, except kill millions of innocent people. Tom Riddle will be unharmed."

Dietmar shifted as his attention caught. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's the truth, and I mean that," said Hermione forcefully. "Voldemort is no ordinary Dark Wizard. He's brilliant and cunning and he's taken steps to make himself borderline immortal. Harry is the _only_ one who can kill Tom Riddle. And this attack might kill _him _instead. Please, Herr Friedrich…I really need your help. Harry is counting on me."

Dietmar considered her words and nodded his head. "Very well. Come along with me, you must tell all this to the ICW Council."

"Can you simply barge into a high-level meeting?" asked Hermione.

"I am the head of the ICW's elite security force," Dietmar replied smoothly. "In this building, there isn't _anything_ I can't do."

Hermione returned his grin and followed him to a Floo portal. A quick flash of green fire later and she and Dietmar were striding through a pair of large, oak double doors, and onto the floor of the ICW Council meeting, where three hundred of the most powerful magical people in the world were suddenly hissing at the interruption.

"Honoured Members, forgive me," said Dietmar. "But this is business that cannot be ignored."

"Captain Friedrich," said a Spanish wizard seated in the High Minister's Chair. "What is the meaning of this? And who is this witch?"

"This witch, Supreme Mugwhump, High Minister Diaz, is Hermione Potter. Wife of Harry Potter."

Three hundred voices broke out into simultaneous whispers around the oval chamber, consorting with their neighbours and pointing down into the base of the bowl-like room. Hermione looked up at them, at all twelve rows of them and glowered at each face, daring them to challenge her.

"She has left the United Kingdom, passing the wards by use of Harry Potter's family ring," Dietmar called over the din. "I have seen and verified her credentials."

"And why is she here?" asked High Minister Diaz.

"I am here to plead with you, on behalf of all the innocent people of my country," said Hermione, stepping forwards. "Please, you must intervene to prevent the imminent attack on Great Britain by the Muggle army in France."

"And why should we do that?" asked a witch with a thick Danish accent, sitting in the third row. "King Voldemort represents the greatest threat to peace in magical Europe since Gellert Grindelwald. If the Muggles are offering to take him out, I say let them."

The chamber erupted in banging and foot-stomping agreement.

"Mrs Potter - tell them what you told me," Dietmar threw out.

"So, millions of innocents should die, is that what you're saying?" Hermione hurled back at the Danish witch, ignoring Dietmar in much the same way as the other three hundred people in the room had.

"There will always be collateral damage in warfare," said a Canadian wizard sat to Hermione's right. There were more roars of approval. Hermione glared angrily at him.

"Tell them," Dietmar tried again.

"Besides, it will be a chance to rebuild Britain in a modern way," said an Italian wizard near to the High Minister. "Your ways are so _old fashioned_."

"I can show you just how old fashioned we are!" Hermione screeched angrily. "We _invented_ medieval! You'd do well to remember _that_!"

"Hermione! Tell them!"

Dietmar's sonorous-enhanced voice thundered around the chamber, stunning everyone to silence. When the fierce Head of the ZGD spoke, it seemed, everyone was going to listen. Hermione smiled gratefully at him, and he inclined his head in response. The Supreme Mugwhump looked down at her kindly.

"You have the floor, Mrs Potter."

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione. "The attack on Britain _will not_ destroy Lord Voldemort."

"And how do you know this?" asked High Minister Diaz.

"Tom Riddle - the wizard you know as Voldemort - has engaged in some of the darkest forms of magic to make himself almost impossible to kill. He has immersed himself in the despicable magic of Horcrux creation."

Little hissing wildfires of horrified chatter broke out all around the chamber. High Minister Diaz had to bang his gong for silence.

"He has created a Horcrux?" he asked quietly. He had gone very pale.

"Not one, sir, no… but _seven_."

The chamber erupted. Cries and shouts ricochetted off the walls. The anger in the room was palpable. High Minister Diaz had to modify his own voice to bring order again. Hermione heard one wizard proclaim they were all doomed. The Spanish leader of the ICW turned his head back to Hermione.

"You say he has created _seven_ Horcruxes?" Hermione nodded her confirmation. "Abulafia help us!"

"We are finished," the Danish witch moaned, her voice terrified. "Voldemort will kill us all!"

"Not if you stop the Muggles…and leave it to us to kill him first."

A silence followed Hermione's words that was probably unprecedented in its intensity in the history of the ICW.

"Kill him?" asked High Minister Diaz. "He created seven Horcruxes…and you want me to believe you can kill him?"

"We have destroyed six of the Horcruxes already," said Hermione plainly. She waited for the astonished din to die down before continuing. "And we are on the hunt for the seventh. Then we can go for Riddle. And no, Supreme Mugwhump, _I_ can't kill Lord Voldemort…but my husband _can_. He is the _only_ one who can."

"Harry Potter was fated, by prophecy, to have the power to defeat this Dark Lord," said Dietmar, taking over. "This chamber has heard of the prophecy. I trained the man to be able to do it. And, trust me ladies and gentleman, you will find no more accomplished and, frankly, _deadly_ dueller _on the planet_ than Harry Potter."

"Here, here," said the Minister for Argentina, inclining his water glass to Hermione in respectful salute. "You will tell your husband that Florentin Perez says hello?"

"I will," Hermione replied with a smile.

"If the prophecy is, indeed, true," Dietmar continued, "Then we must help Britain…and give the Potters their chance to save their country…to save us all."

His words were greeted by a hush of heavy breathing. The High Minister eventually addressed Hermione again.

"Mrs Potter, what do you need us to do?"

"Stop the Muggle army from attacking us," said Hermione. "Tell them what I've told you if you must. Make them see the futility of what they are doing. Tell them…tell them the future _Queen of England_ asks it of them."

The stunned looks that hit the assembled faces around Hermione made her laugh. She couldn't help it.

"Excuse me," said High Minister Diaz. "But could you repeat that? I'm afraid my hearing isn't what it once was."

"You heard perfectly enough," said Hermione. "Harry Potter has claimed his legacy as the Heir Descendent of King Arthur...the once and future King of Britain. And, when that future comes, I will be his Queen."

Excited murmurs exploded around the chamber. Dietmar dropped to one knee.

"May I be the first man to offer fealty to the future Queen of the Britons," he said with a grin. "I may be a German…but Harry Potter would cut my cock off if I didn't offer myself to your service."

Hermione laughed. "I heartily accept. But I ask only that you help to stop Britain being invaded by this Muggle army."

Dietmar stood and looked ferociously at High Minister Diaz. "The Council's decision, Supreme Mugwhump?"

"We will stand by Britain…and her Queen," said Diaz. "Go, Dietmar. You know what you must do. Lady Potter - it has been an honour to meet you. Return home and let us handle Europe on our side. I hope, when we next meet, it will be on far friendlier terms."

"I'd like that," said Hermione, smiling. "Thank you, Supreme Mugwhump."

Diaz smiled warmly at her. "And tell Harry for me…knight to king six."

"Er…I don't follow."

"We were playing a game of postal chess," said Diaz fondly. "It was my move when we erected the wards."

"But that was…_three and a half years ago!_"

"Indeed. Harry's had me on the run all that time. My pieces should approve of this aggressive counter move!"

Hermione laughed and bowed to the High Minister, before turning on her heels and heading for home.

* * *

Enola sat by Harry's bedside and held his hand. Hermione had been gone for two days and Enola had spent much of that time in her place, caring for Harry as she would. But he was unchanged. His body had slept, they had been reduced to force-feeding him a potion as a food supplement, and they had devised a rota for cleaning out his bedpans.

But Harry might as well have been an enchanted doll for all the life he showed.

Enola sighed in worry as she stared at him. Across the bed, her mother was equally as concerned for her.

"You have to rest," said Arianwen. "You took terrible."

"Thanks, Mum," Enola frowned back. "Make me feel better why don't you?"

"Just saying," said Arianwen in her sing-song Welsh lilt. "You can't help him any more than the rest of us. Go to bed for a bit."

"I had a nap when I put Alison down," said Enola. "I can't leave him, Mum. He might need something. And I promised Min I'd look after him."

"I'm pretty sure Lady Hermione wouldn't have expected you to sit by Harry's bedside twenty-four hours a day."

Enola tilted her head at her mother. "What's with all this _Lady Hermione_ ceremony?"

"She's going to be Harry's wife," said Arianwen simply. "He's the Master of this house, and Lady Hermione will be its Mistress. Might as well get used to addressing them properly. Even _you_ will have to."

"Pfft," said Enola with a giggle. "Min won't make me do all that."

"It's not a case of _making you_, Enola," said Arianwen. "It's simply the proper thing to do. I didn't raise you to be disrespectful."

"Min's my friend."

"And she may also one day be your Queen. She will certainly be Lady of the House. A house we only live in due to Harry's wonderful generosity."

"I do hope she'll ask me to be her Maid of Honour," said Enola happily, hitching her knees up. "We'll have _such_ a raucous hen party!"

"Isn't she very friendly with the girl who killed her baby?" asked Arianwen. "She might ask her."

"She is, but they haven't been the same since that happened," said Enola sadly. "Hermione doesn't agree with it at all, and Susan is so bitter that she refuses to talk with her about it."

"It'll all come back to haunt her one day," said Arianwen. "It'll fester if she doesn't sort her mind on it. Still, maybe Cassie can help her over it."

"Cassie? What's she got to do with it?"

"Oh, nothing directly," said Arianwen, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "But seeing as I saw them abandoning cultivating mandrakes, to stick their tongues down each others' throats, I would say she has Miss Bones's ear!"

"_What!?" _Enola exclaimed in stunned shock. "When did that happen?"

"I couldn't say, but I walked into the greenhouses the other day and spotted them. The mandrakes were screeching, you see, so I went to have a look what was going on. I thought that monstrous cat of Lady Hermione's was causing havoc again. But no, they'd just been interrupted on their re-potting."

"By Cassie and Susan _kissing?"_

"It was more than just kissing, honey," said Arianwen patiently. "There was some pretty heavy lip-locking going on, but your best friend had her knickers round her knees. It was one of those g-string types. I did like the colour, though. Hot peach. Needless to say, I tip-toed away as respectfully as I could.

"Well, screw me," said Enola, shaking her head in disbelief. "Never a dull moment, is there?"

"Watch your language, my girl," said Arianwen warningly. "Well, I'd better go and check on Angharad. See if she needs anything."

"How is she?"

"Better now she's back in her suite," said Arianwen. "But that curse…it was nearly as bad as an Unforgivable. Heart, lungs, skin…none of them have worked properly since. It's going to take a hell of a long time for her to fully recover. If she ever does."

"Harry said Min was hit with it as a girl," said Enola, thoughtfully. "Do you think we should check her for residual effects?"

"It was the first thing Harry did, as soon as we knew how far-ranging the curse's effects were. He found a hole in her heart, and it was growing. He thinks that the curse was only in an experimental stage when it was used on Lady Hermione as a youngster. It wasn't as potent as this version. Even so, if Harry hadn't found it and repaired it, she might have been dead in a year."

Enola gasped in shock. "Merlin forbid!"

"Don't tell her. Harry did it in secret so we can assume he doesn't want her to know," said Arianwen warningly. "I'd like to know what he used, actually, because nothing is really denting the effects on poor Ann."

"Is she still in danger then?" asked Enola.

Arianwen looked at her darkly. "Don't you dare say anything to Myfanwy, but this is a degrading curse. It's eating Angharad alive from the inside out. I give her six months at best."

Enola flung her hand to her mouth, hoping to catch the shocked breath that burst out there. "Oh, no….Mum, don't say that! There must be something we can do?"

"I've tried everything I know," said Arianwen sadly. "Unless Harry has some miracle cure up his sleeve, we'll have lost Ann by Christmas."

Enola stared at her mother in abject horror, then squeezed Harry's hand tightly. She closed her eyes and prayed to Merlin that Hermione would be back soon with good news. They needed some now more than ever.

And Harry just slept on soundly.

* * *

"Well, we haven't been nuked to death so I assume you were successful."

"It's nice to be home, too, Sir David," said Hermione, offering a sardonic grin.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Sir David replied with a little bow. "It's good to see you home in one piece. How did everything go?"

"As you said, Britain is not yet in the throes of a nuclear winter," said Hermione. "I've explained everything to Neville and Myfanwy. If you'll assemble the others I'm sure they can brief you all."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Finding Harry, of course."

"But, my Lady, you've only just arrived back home," said Sir David. "Surely you should rest."

Hermione smiled almost pityingly at him. She playfully cupped his chin between her thumb and finger. "My dear, Sir David, we shall have to spend more time together. You _reall__y_ don't know me at all, do you? And that just wont do."

She winked at him, before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. She hurried down the second floor corridor and swung into the Recuperation Room, unbuttoning her travelling cloak as she did so. She threw it into a chair just inside the room and rushed over to Harry's bedside.

"Min! You're back!"

Enola appeared from around a curtain and crashed into Hermione with a mighty hug, and she returned the embrace with gusto.

"How is he?" asked Hermione, pulling herself gently free and taking Harry's hand, smoothing it tenderly.

"No different," said Enola sadly. "He seems to be sleeping more and more though. I don't know if that's bad or not. Where's Nev? Is he all right?"

"Yeah he's fine, just filling the others in on what happened with the ICW," said Hermione. Enola sagged into a chair with relief, clutching at her heart as she did so. Colour flooded her cheeks. Hermione could tell she hadn't slept much.

"You should get some rest," said Hermione. "But first, I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"Set me up a ritual circle in here," said Hermione. "Basic runes, crystals, whatever it is you do. Myfanwy said temporary circles can be set up anywhere easily enough."

"They can, but it all depends on the purpose," said Enola, eyeing her curiously. "What do you want it for?"

"I have to get into Harry's mind," said Hermione simply. "You're going to show me how you do it."

"Now? In here? But you've only just arrived."

"Yes, now," said Hermione impatiently. "I've left him in there for far too long as it is. Please have Rhian fetch Celesca Lovegood and my ritual robe and bring both to me. Also here, also now."

"Yes, my Lady," said Enola with a wink. She walked to the fireplace on the far side of the room and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the hearth. Emerald green flames leapt up in the grate. "Mum! I need you. Bring your ritual kit and your rune stylus. The antimony one."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled as she started to get undressed. "Sorry to be so bossy. I'm just going mental with him being stuck in there all alone."

"I know, me too," said Enola. "Get behind the curtain. I'll sort everything this side." Hermione did as she was told. "Merlin, when I tell Harry that you were a foot away from him and naked…and he slept through it…."

"Don't you dare!" said Hermione grinning madly and popping her head around the curtain rail to glare good-naturedly at Enola, who just hooted with laughter in response.

It took barely half an hour to set everything up. Enola and her mother worked quickly and Hermione watched in deep fascination. They identified the four cardinal points and placed a representation of each of the four elements at each corresponding point; a candle, a feather, a crystal, a sea shell with water in it. Then Enola drew a glowing circle with her wand to join them, while Arianwen etched out various runes with her stylus. Then they held hands and pushed power into the circle with their wands.

When they were done, the circle teemed with magic. It made Hermione's hair stand on end.

"It's done," said Enola stepping back. "The circle will last a few hours, but after that it will lose potency. Min, how are you going to get into Harry's mind? I have my own link to it, but you don't."

"I'm going to take her," little Celesca chirped. "I can get in there and take Miss Hermione with me."

"This isn't dangerous, is it?" asked Luna, who was holding onto Celesca from behind, holding her protectively close. Hermione smiled fondly at them. Seeing them together now it was clear that Celesca was Luna's daughter, they looked so alike.

"No, its fine, Mummy," said Celesca, looking up at Luna. "Miss Hermione will be quite safe."

Hermione smiled at her. "I think your mum meant dangerous for _you_, sweetheart."

"Oh." Celesca frowned. "I'll be all right. Come on. Mister Harry needs our help."

"Luna, please," Hermione pleaded. "We're all Harry has. I promise I won't do anything risky. If it looks like we're in danger, I'll bring us out."

"Mummy, we wont be hurt in there," said Celesca. "But Mister Harry might be. Please, let us find him."

Luna nodded. "Okay, honey. But Cesc…don't do anything silly. Promise me."

"I promise, Mummy. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie," said Luna, smiling fondly. She turned to Hermione. "I'll give you an hour with her. After that she'll be pushed too far."

"Thank you," said Hermione, squeezing Luna's hands. "I don't intend to waste any time."

"Then lets get to it," said Enola. "Ladies…enter the circle."

Hermione switched to holding Celesca's hand and guided her through the wall of magic. She shivered at it, as though all her skin had been tickled at once. Celesca grinned up at her.

"That felt funny," she said with a cutesy smile.

"How do we do this?" Hermione asked.

"Just close your eyes," said Celesca. "I'll find your mind…then take you into Mister Harry's head."

"Okay." Hermione was doubtful, but she sat cross-legged opposite Celesca and closed her eyes.

"Just imagine an empty space," said Celesca.

Hermione followed the instruction and breathed deeply, summoning the magic of the circle as Harry had shown her how. It flowed gently around them and Hermione was loosely aware of a foreign connection lurking just outside her mind. It was soft, child-like, but also sorrowful. This was Hermione's first intimate connection with Celesca, and she immediately felt such pity for the girl.

For she seemed like an old matron already. The things this poor child must have seen through the eyes of others…Hermione railed against it. Life was just so unfair, it would seem.

Then suddenly she was in a white room. A calm space in her own mind. She gasped. For she was hit with such a powerful sense of Harry's presence that she thought this might be over in seconds, that she'd found him without even trying. It was as if he was there, just out of sight. She reasoned this was his essence from the Potter ring again, or their innate connection rearing its head.

"Harry?" she asked out cautiously.

"He can't be here, Miss," said Celesca, who was suddenly standing behind her, waiting patiently with her hands behind her back. "This is _your _mind. Not enough room for two here."

"But I can _feel_ him," Hermione complained.

"Yes, I can too," said Celesca. "But it's because we are close to his mind, Miss. Come on, it's this way."

Celesca offered her hand and Hermione took it. They walked on, down a dark, tubular corridor that Hermione hadn't noticed before. The link…between her mind and Harry's. It was an odd sensation, to be leaving her own body. She felt stretched, somehow thin. This would take some getting used to. She breathed raggedly and squeezed Celesca's hand for reassurance.

"It's okay, Miss," said Celesca, smiling. "I'll look after you."

It was the most bizarre feeling, to be so comforted by this child. But Hermione couldn't resist it. The girl just had something about her presence, a soothing energy that Hermione struggled to describe. She felt safe under her guidance.

"Here we are, Miss Hermione."

Hermione blinked. The tube-like corridor had opened up onto something entirely different. They were now in a long hallway, poorly lit by dirty ceiling lights, half of which were spluttering in and out of life. Faded, emerald green wallpaper peeled off the walls and there were distant noises that Hermione couldn't quite pick out, behind a number of doors set into the left-hand side of the hallway.

Hermione quailed. For all of the noises were those of obvious, terrified distress.

"I thought you said it looked like a building with lots of floors," said Hermione, perplexed and quivering.

"It does, for me," Celesca explained. "But this is how _you_ see it. Or maybe how Mister Harry sees it. But it's the same. Look."

Celesca pointed down the corridor. There were six doors that Hermione could see, but the corridor went on way beyond them into a blurry sort of fog with an eerie red light set high against the ceiling.

"That's what I see on the lower floors when I come on my own," said Celesca, nodding at that weird mist. "We wont be able to get through there, I bet. It's where the pretty lady dug too deep. Only Mister Harry can reach it."

"But what if that's where he is?" said Hermione. "That's where he might be trapped."

Celesca shook her head and frowned. "I don't think so, Miss. I can't get there, but I _can_ see into it, and he's never been in there."

"What do you see?"

Celesca turned her pity-filled eyes to Hermione. "_You_, Miss...and the horrible gingerbread man. I know…I know the things he did to you."

Celesca's ethereal voice was comforting and sympathetic, and as those watery eyes fixed firmly on Hermione, her breathing hitched and surprised tears stung her eyes. She felt Celesca's tiny hand slip into her own and give it a gentle squeeze. She choked her breath out to regain control, then moved off along the corridor.

"What am I going to find here, Celesca?" asked Hermione. "Have you been into all of these places?"

Celesca nodded. "Yes, Miss Hermione. You should know…all but one of these places are bad. You wont like what you see in them."

"Why? What are they?"

"Mister Harry's memories, mostly," said Celesca. "And then his pain, his fear, all made into _real_ things. It's a horrible place. I feel so sorry for Mister Harry to have to carry this inside. I'd like to help him…but I don't know how I can. His monsters are very real down here, Miss. And _very _scary."

"Can I interact with them?" asked Hermione. "Can I get rid of any of them?"

Celesca shook her head. "No, Miss. These are Mister Harry's memories, his darknesses. We are just watching, Miss. Can only be part of it when Mister Harry's here. They come properly alive then…and it's so _frightening_, I can't tell you."

"How? What happens to Harry when he's here?"

"He goes back…into the memory," said Celesca. "He _becomes_ that Harry again. Lives it all again. Tries to make it better like that."

"Does it work?" asked Hermione, horrorstruck.

Celesca shook her head sadly again. "No, Miss, it wont ever work."

Hermione gasped aloud. "Then how can he be helped?"

"I don't know, Miss Hermione," said Celesca quietly. "I really don't…"

Hermione fought a strangled sob. Poor Harry. _Her poor Harry!_ Hermione's heart broke at the very concept. She had to find a way to help, to get rid of…_whatever_ she was likely to find down here. She took a moment to compose herself. Then she opened the first door.

And slammed it closed instantly, clutching at her now colourless cheeks.

"D…Dementors?" she panted lowly.

"Told you, Miss," said Celesca. "Come on, I won't let them hurt you."

Celesca took Hermione's hand again and led her inside the room. Hermione's mouth fell open in shock, for as soon as they entered this gloomy space a dome of light shot out from Celesca and covered them both like a blanket. Hermione felt utterly shielded from anything outside. It was as if Celesca's very _innocence_ was a power in and of itself.

And, with a shuddering jolt, Hermione suddenly understood just why she'd been chosen for ritual sacrifice.

Hermione clutched Celesca's hand tightly, as if to protect her right back. Together, they walked forwards and Hermione looked around in awestruck horror. They were in a vast plane, dark and shadowy as far as Hermione could see in every direction. Angry lightening flashed against a bruise-purple sky, casting a rutted, spiky landscape into stark relief. And there were Dementors _everywhere_. Thousands of them. Hermione stared open-mouthed at their massive numbers.

And then there was the air itself. It was thick with oppression, coated in worry and throbbing with prickly anxiety. Hermione felt it sting her own skin. Her breaths were heavy, leaden. It was as if she was stuck in a fog of poisonous fumes. It settled acridly dry in her throat.

"All Mister Harry's fears come here," Celesca whispered. "Everything he's afraid of."

"And what happens to Harry when he come in here?"

"He loses his mind, Miss," said Celesca. "There's just too many of them, even for him. I think he comes here on purpose, to try and deal with as many as he can, so he's better when he's back outside. But then he falls down, and the pretty lady has to come and rescue him."

"Her name's Enola," said Hermione. And, she thought, when she got out of here, she was definitely going to have a _long_ chat with her friend. They _had_ to find a way to help Harry. This place was devastatingly dismal.

Then Hermione screeched in fright. For the spectral form of Tom Riddle's head, pinned into the back of a turban, suddenly rushed past them. Hermione huffed in a startled breath.

"He's a bad man, isn't he, Miss?" asked Celesca. "He's here a lot, in lots of shapes."

"Yes, he's a bad man," said Hermione, looking back at Riddle's retreating form with hateful disdain. "He's the worst."

They walked on, for ages. Hermione didn't know where they were going, but Celesca seemed to have a practiced route. Hermione almost wished she didn't, for the horrors she was seeing…Sirius falling through the veil, Harry's parents being cut down by Voldemort, The Chamber of Secrets…Hermione hadn't even known how _frightened_ he'd been down there. She had been petrified, after all, unable to help. Her heart broke and bled and broke again.

And then.

"Wow. What the hell?"

For she was looking at herself, half transfigured into a cat.

"He hates this part, Miss," said Celesca. "I think its the worst bit. He cries so much seeing you like this."

"Oh, _Harry…_" Hermione breathed. She'd never known. "He isn't in here, is he?"

"I don't think so, Miss," said Celesca. "He comes to these parts most often. I don't think he's here today."

"How do we get out?"

"We just turn around," said Celesca.

Confused, Hermione span on the spot. And her mouth fell open, for the door was still directly behind them, oddly stark against that imposing gloom behind it. It was as if they haven't moved at all.

"I really don't like this," said Hermione. She was deeply unsettled.

"Me, neither," Celesca nodded. "See, I told you they ought not to have done this to poor Mister Harry."

Hermione couldn't agree more. The next room didn't improve things. Hermione fought against tears as she watched Harry fall fifty feet from a broom, get smashed in the face by a bludger - and later by Draco Malfoy's boot - then get chased and gouged by the Hungarian Horntail he'd faced during the Triwizard Tournament. Then she watched as he writhed and screamed against the fierce, white-hot burning in his old scar as his mind was furiously attacked.

And then, in a way that angered as much as shocked her, she saw her own memories, snippets of her vicious beatings by Ron…only with Harry in her place where he'd stolen the pain from her. She felt a sort of sickness she'd never experienced and roiled against it, as she watched Harry being beaten to a broken pulp.

But it was when she saw his face, his beautiful face, get ripped apart by Tom Riddle's Avada Kedavra in the Forbidden Forest that Hermione could take no more.

"Get me out of here," she sobbed. "Please, no more!"

Back in the relative safety of the hallway, Hermione curled up into a ball and wept helpless tears. Harry was so wounded…so, so wounded. How could she have allowed this to happen to him? How could she stand for it now? She had never felt so distressed. Not in all the years under Ron's boot, not in any time she could ever remember. She just _had_ to help him. She would find a way, she swore it.

"Miss Hermione?"

Celesca's delicate question, phrased in a tiny voice, pulled Hermione back to the task at hand. She sat up and dabbed at her eyes.

"That was his pain room, right?" asked Hermione. Celesca nodded. "Fear…pain…the worse must be over, then?"

Celesca looked doubtfully at her. "For you, maybe. But the next place is one Mister Harry is the most scared of."

"I'm not sure I even want to know," said Hermione. "What's in there?"

Hermione took the handle of the next door. The level of deep foreboding radiating from it was tangible. It was with a ridiculous amount of dread that Hermione began her search of this plane.

But, on initial appearances, it wasn't so bad. The air was fairly still, there was nothing to suggest what it was. But then, things began to appear. And Hermione's heart actually shattered. She fell to her knees as the scenes flashed in front of her. And there was a common theme.

For she, herself, was in every one of them.

Here she was, petrified in the Hogwarts Infirmary, crying in the girls bathroom, sitting depressed and friendless at lunch, as Harry and Ron moodily huffed at her and talked loudly about Harry's confiscated Firebolt. Then she was dancing with Viktor Krum, and crying again as Ron cut her down. Then, the worst…she was _kissing_ Ron. And the emotion of the room snapped in pained anguish, as if Harry's heart was the air itself.

"What is this?" asked Hermione in unremitting horror.

"This place is all about _you_, Miss," said Celesca. "All Mister Harry regrets and doesn't like about things he's done or said to you. He _really_ doesn't like coming in here. I've seen him just sit outside sometimes, and bang his head against the door. He never wants to come in. I really don't expect him to be in here, either. For him, its the very _worst _place he could go."

"I'm starting to think he maybe won't be in any of them," said Hermione. "How many are left?"

_And how much more can I take?,_ she thought.

Hermione closed the door with a little click and rested against the hallway wall. Her mind was pounding against her skull. Of all the horrors, terrors she had imagined in this place…she never appreciated they would be quite this fierce, or quite so numerous. She knew Harry had suffered in his life, and that he carried some serious scars. But this…well. Hermione huffed crossly. Standing there, she made a firm decision. Screw the war, screw Riddle and Ron and every Death Eater fucker out there.

She was going to heal Harry of this. That was her priority, the rest of the world could just kiss her arse if they had a problem with it.

Hermione took a deep breath and moved on to the next door, stupidly wary of what she might find behind it. But she halted as she stood in front of it. It was bland, nondescript. It didn't emit the same sort of foreboding, or have any of the frightening noises shrieking from within.

And it looked out of place. Whereas the others simply seemed like a row of daunting doors on some sort of nightmare hotel floor, this was totally different. For a start, it was only half the height of the others. Hermione wasn't even sure she'd be able to fit under it. It also wasn't recessed as the rest were. It looked like a barn door, or maybe..

"A cupboard under the stairs?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "Why in the world…"

Celesca was suddenly fraught, turning to Hermione with wide, frightened eyes.

"Shouldn't go in there, Miss…shouldn't…mustn't…"

"But why?"

"Bad place in there, Miss, the _worst,"_ said Celesca lowly. "Come on…lets go away. The next one is Mister Harry's quiet place…he likes it there…come on…"

Celesca tugged at Hermione's robe, but she held firm.

She frowned at the plain door. "What's in there, Celesca?"

Luna's daughter looked up. She was so scared, so fitfully anxious that she was actually trembling.

"It's the worst place, Miss Hermione. "We have to go. You don't want to see in _there_. Come _on, _Miss!"

Celesca tugged hopelessly again on Hermione's robes, groaning in frustration at being unable to move her along. But Hermione was determined. She had to see what was inside. She knelt down next to Celesca.

"Honey, its okay…tell me why I don't want to look in there."

Celesca shook her head furiously from side to side, so rapid in fact that her eyes became unfocused.

"Please…" Hermione prompted. "I have to know. What's so bad about it?"

Celesca sighed in defeat. "Mister Harry…he's…he's…he's very," she said hoarsely. "Very _young _in that room."

Hermione felt her heart stop a moment. She blinked at Celesca. "Young? Is Harry a _child _inthere, is that what you're saying?"

Celesca nodded, still quivering as she did so. "My age, Miss, and a bit older. No more than ten."

"And what happens to him in there?"

"He gets hurt Miss, over and over," said Celesca breathing rapidly. "By a fat man with a red face, and the skinny lady who looks like a horse."

"His aunt and uncle," Hermione thought aloud in horror. She sucked in a breath. She looked back in dismay at the door…of course…

_'They kept him in a cupboard for eleven years…ELEVEN YEARS, Hermione…what the fuck is that about?'_

Neville's words echoed in Hermione's mind and she froze. She pinned her eyes back to the door. This was where Harry siphoned off his memories, the wounds and scars from his life _pre-Hogwarts_. The ones he'd never spoken about to anyone, not even to her. She shouldn't go in…Harry might never forgive her.

But she was already turning the handle.

And she immediately wished she hadn't.

For there was a crack, a whipping sound she knew was a cruel back hander to the face. Ron had given her plenty of those over the years. But this wasn't Ron, and that pitiful, helpless yelp wasn't her own. She turned in time to see a carpeted staircase materialise in front of her and Harry, no more than seven or eight years old, came tumbling down it till he hit the bottom, where he lay in a heap. Quite still.

Hermione tried to cry out, but the sound got lost somewhere in her throat.

Then he was there, cradling his left wrist tenderly in the gloom, blowing futilely an angry burn which was welting on his hand and trying desperately to keep his crying quiet, as his puffy eyes looked in abject terror at the cupboard door; then he was cowering away from the hand of a doctor, as his Uncle talked about him running into a drill he'd been using during a DIY project; and finally he was balled up in the foetal position, clutching at his stomach where the starvation was making him double up in excruciating agony.

"No more! No more!" Hermione shrieked.

And she was pulled bodily from the ritual. She looked up in confused panic a moment, before rolling over and vomiting profusely all over the floor. She retched and heaved until she was spent, and then simply lay there and screamed in anguish.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," little Celesca cried. "I didn't mean to!"

Hermione was jolted by Celesca's distress. She rolled over again, right into her pool of vomit.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart, it's not," said Hermione. "Ennie…help me, please!"

Enola hurried forwards and cleaned everything up in a few flicks of her wand. As soon as she had, Celesca rushed forward and threw her arms around Hermione's neck, and Enola encircled them both. There were quite too many tears for all their likings. Hermione whispered gently to soothe Celesca, while Luna joined them and smoothed her daughter's hair It was a good few minutes before they separated.

And Hermione turned straight to Enola.

"You _knew_," she said breathily. "You knew…knew how horrific it was….and you didn't tell me."

Enola looked back nervously. "They aren't my secrets to tell," she said in a tiny voice. "Harry…he…he said…"

"Harry was _always_ going to _say!" _Hermione hissed. "You _know_ what he's like. He never asks for help, even when he's crying out for it."

"I'm sorry, Min," said Enola, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione wanted to rage, to explode. But Enola's distress was so acute that Hermione's fury ebbed away in the face of it. She took her hand and squeezed it.

"Just don't keep anything like that from me again. No matter what Harry has told you. Okay?"

Enola nodded furiously. "I won't. I promise."

"Okay." said Hermione. She sat up and eased Celesca onto her lap, looking deeply into her incredibly expressive eyes. "This wasn't your fault, sweetie, all right? Don't be upset. Come on, dry your eyes like a big girl."

"I t-told you," Celesca hiccuped. "I s-said you wouldn't like what you saw."

"And you were quite right," said Hermione, smiling weakly. "I'll listen to you next time. You're such a bright girl."

Celesca tried to smile back through her sadness. Hermione caught Luna's eye and motioned for her to take Celesca. She didn't think she could stay strong for her much longer. Luna scooped up her daughter and cooed softly to her, before standing and taking her from the room.

And Hermione broke down as soon as she was out of sight.

Enola flung her arms back around her, tears flowing from her too. Hermione couldn't believe she was so upset, in so much pain. She'd never _hurt_ like this before. It cut to the very centre of her and she cried out in astonishment at the depth of her agony. The visions smacked at the inside of her eyes, and she fought in vain to push them away. But they wouldn't give.

How could Harry have endured so much? What sort of fucked up world would punish the one she loved so very, very much in so many terrible ways? A man so full of good, who had done so much for others. It was all sorts of wrong. She howled at the injustice, raged and swore vengeance against all those who had wronged him. She vowed she would hunt each and every one of them down, visit such primal revenge on them.

Her love would become the most _terrifying_ weapon. Merlin pity those who had ranged themselves against her Harry, her lover, her soul. She would devastate them all.

She eased free from Enola and stood, only to pull the sheets aside on Harry's bed and slip in beside him. She worked her hand under his shirt to feel his heartbeat, still there, still thudding strong against her splayed palm. She took a breath, drank in Harry's scent and closed her eyes. She heard Enola stand and draw the curtains on them, before she passed into deep sleep.

* * *

It was late when Hermione woke. There were shadows flickering through the curtain and hushed, frantic voices drifted in from the corridor outside the Recuperation Room. Hermione looked at Harry. His eye was open, staring aimlessly into space. She sighed. At least he was still alive.

"Enough of this, Harry," she said crossly. "Come back to me. I'm getting rather annoyed now. And I miss you."

But Harry stayed as still as ever.

The raised voices were closer now. Hermione huffed and eased herself out of bed. Straightening out her creased ritual robe, she rounded the curtain and made her way out into the corridor. There, she halted in astonishment.

For Narcissa Malfoy was marching towards her, a determined look on her face, with Enola trotting behind her.

They met and, for a moment, simply sized each other up. A dozen different emotions passed between them, and Hermione felt involuntarily for her wand. Narcissa saw the movement and narrowed her eyes.

"Really? Attacking the Chief of the Order you wish to be inducted into?" said Narcissa smoothly. "Is that how our relationship begins?"

"You tell me," said Hermione resolutely. "I killed your son. How high is revenge on your list?"

Narcissa sighed. "Ah. Let's deal with this first, shall we? My son died a long time ago. You killed that perversion of a body Tom Riddle contorted him into. I hope only that Draco can find redemption in the next world."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow doubtfully. Narcissa was still casting her gaze up and down, assessing Hermione. She didn't like it. She'd always hated being on display, under such scrutiny. She shifted awkwardly.

"I have come only to see if I can be of aid to Harry," said Narcissa. "For that, we should be on the same page."

"Then lets base our relationship on _that_," said Hermione. "For, as of now, I have zero idea how to help him."

"Then, lead me to him," said Narcissa. "Not for nothing am I Harry's Chief Acolyte. Lets see if I can cover ground you may have been unable to."

Hermione bowed Narcissa forwards then fell into stride alongside her, casting suspicious glances at the older woman until they reached Harry's bedside.

"He's been like this for days," said Hermione. "I'm getting a little desperate now, to own the truth."

Narcissa ran her hand over Harry's still form. Hermione watched with deep curiosity. Narcissa hadn't drawn her wand; instead, power rushed out from two rings on her outside fingers, which were joined to a dainty wrist circlet by way of a fine thread of silvery chain crossing the back of her hand. She frowned as she completed her tests.

"Harry isn't in there…anywhere," said Narcissa, finally.

"No, and we've looked as deep as we can go," said Hermione. "I don't understand. I can still _feel_ him...it doesn't make any sort of sense."

Narcissa studied her intently. Hermione was back to feeling on display again. She puffed out a breath under the attention.

"Enola, you performed this procedure," said Narcissa, snapping her head to her. "What went wrong? You've done this multiple times."

Enola scuffed her foot and looked down meekly. "I don't know. There was a _lot_ of power swirling around in the ritual chamber. I could hardly hold Harry still. It was like he was being pulled away from me."

"And he was in _your mind_, you say?" Narcissa queried, turning to Hermione, who nodded her confirmation. "But you felt that Harry was being pulled in the _opposite_ direction to you, Enola?"

Enola nodded, sheepishly. Hermione smirked to herself. She'd never seen Ennie this shy or bashful. Narcissa seemed to terrify her.

"Interesting," Narcissa went on. She turned back to Hermione. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"For _this_, I know you've had trouble with this sort of thing before."

And suddenly Narcissa span and clasped her hand to Hermione's forehead. Hermione yelped and tried to jump back, but she was held tightly in place. A wave of magic surged through her from her temples to her toes. It was horrible, invasive. It stung with a sharp burn all through her. She cried out against the pain.

Then it stopped abruptly as Narcissa released her. Hermione fumed into her eyes.

"What the _actual_ fuck?" she demanded.

"I've found Harry," said Narcissa simply. "He's there…_inside you_. Well, this is fascinating."

Hermione's fury stilled instantly, and her eyes bulged in shock. "What?"

"Do you mean literally or figuratively?" asked Enola, mouth agape.

"Literally," Narcissa confirmed, staring into Hermione's face. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at her. "He's there. Trapped inside. Your souls are joined. Or, at least, they could be. They have the same signature. I've never come across a pair of _actual _soulmates before. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd have never believed it. This is rather wondrous."

Narcissa spoke her words as if in genuine surprise. Hermione blushed under her curious gaze.

"Harry's…_inside_ me?" she breathed. Enola winked wickedly at her. "Shut up, Ennie. I'm being serious. How is that possible?"

"All the theory would say it shouldn't be," said Narcissa. "One soul to one body, that's the norm. But you two…your souls have the potential to be _one_. That clearly means that Harry's spirit can happily and safely reside in your body…and yours in his, of course. I've never even _heard_ of anything like this. Truly."

Hermione smiled as the heat from her flush stung her ears. "So the soulmate thing? It's real?"

"Of course, only extremely rare," said Narcissa. "To have a soulmate is to have a perfect, complimentary other. If you and Harry _are_ soulmates it's entirely possible that you are the only pair in the world right now."

"I'm pretty sure we are," said Hermione, somewhat coyly. "I love Harry beyond anything in the world, and I know he feels the same for me. But I still feel there's more to come. So, how can we use this to bring him out of me? Runes and ritual?"

"No, you have to go beyond runes for this," said Narcissa. "Go to something even more powerful."

Hermione gasped. "There's something _more_ powerful than runes? What is it?"

""You have to step ahead of runes," Narcissa went on. "…and into alchemy."

"Alchemy?" Hermione queried. "There are other symbols in Harry's ritual room, besides the runes…are they alchemical?"

"I would have to see them to be sure, but it's more than likely," said Narcissa. "Harry has a great fascination with alchemy. In fact, he probably has his own Cell here somewhere."

"Cell?"

"An Alchemists' Cell," Narcissa explained. "A workshop of sorts. A combination of laboratory and meditative space. The study of alchemy is in one part physical and another more spiritual. Harry is questing to be a Master Alchemist. Come to think of it…"

Narcissa switched her curious look at Hermione to one more piercing, yet appraising at the same time. Hermione felt naked under it, she wished Narcissa would just stop. "What is it now?"

"My initial idea was to use an alchemical ritual to reach Harry's soul inside you, but now…if you _are_ soulmates…I think we could do something far more reaching. I could be wrong, but there may be more to you than I realise."

"How so?"

"How much do you know about the alchemical process Mrs…er…Miss…what should I call you?" asked Narcissa.

"Hermione will do just fine for now," said Hermione, huffing at the mention of her hated marital status. "But if we have to be more formal, I will only respond to _'Miss Granger'. _If you call me by my foul, married name I assure you that I'll completely blank you, Chief Acolyte or not."

Narcissa smiled at her. "I like your spunk, Miss Granger. I can see why Harry is so enamoured with you. Once you are inducted we can be more informal with one another. So, the alchemical process?"

"I know the basics, turning base metals to gold and creating the Philosophers' Stone," said Hermione. "And there's the creation of all types of Elixirs in that…ooh, is that how Harry keeps healing these vicious wounds he gets? Alchemical Elixirs?"

"You cotton on very fast, don't you?" said Narcissa, nodding approvingly. "Harry is very good at creating elixirs. He hasn't quite made it to the Elixir of Life yet, but he's proficient at producing some of the others for more earthly healing. Alchemy is a very difficult art…few wizards even get even close to its secrets."

"Nicolas Flamel did," said Hermione. "And Dumbledore did a lot of work with him."

"Yes, but do you know why Flamel succeeded where Dumbledore fell short?" asked Narcissa shrewdly. "And why Harry may also be able to achieve this ridiculously difficult feat?"

Hermione thought hard. Flamel was a brilliant wizard, Dumbledore too. But she didn't know enough about either to answer confidently. And she couldn't fathom for the life of her how Harry was at all similar to them. So she simply shook her head.

"Flamel had a partner, an equal in the process," Narcissa whispered. "Alchemy is fundamentally about the joining of opposites, it is a process of _union_. Perenelle Flamel was Nicolas' perfect partner…_they_ were soulmates. Dumbledore never had a partner to work with in the process. And Harry -"

"Has me," Hermione breathed. Her heart was pounding hard again, speeding her blood all through her. "I'm Harry's perfect other…two halves of one whole…my mind, his heart…"

"To make one soul," Narcissa finished quietly, looking at Hermione in near-wonder. "You've met with Lily Potter…"

Hermione met the older woman's gaze resolutely. New understanding and respect flared between them. Hermione just nodded.

"And did Lily…approve of you?" asked Narcissa gently.

"Yes, she gave me her blessing, on behalf on her and James," said Hermione.

"Then you have been ordained as Harry's _White Queen_…by Harry's own alchemical mentors."

Narcissa's voice was bordering on the reverent.

"His White Queen…what does that mean?" Enola asked.

"The alchemical process is about joining the Red King - the hot, dry principle - with the White Queen - the cool, moist compliment," Narcissa explained. "Harry is certainly a Red King, governed by his sulphuric passions; he is the heart aspect of the union, and marked by the sun."

"How is Harry marked by the sun?" asked Hermione. "He doesn't have much of a tan."

Both Narcissa and Enola looked at Hermione with a sort of pity. The way one looks at a wayward child.

"Enola…draw me the Sowilo rune," Narcissa ordered. "The rune of the Sun."

Smirking, Enola drew her whitewood wand. She slashed it three times through the air and eased a bit of her magic into it. It glowed fiercely in reds and oranges. She stepped back as Hermione gasped aloud.

It was shaped like a bolt of lightening.

"Harry's scar," Hermione breathed. "His _other_ one, I mean."

"Marked by the sun," said Narcissa. "Now you, Miss Granger…his soulmate, his complimentary other. I think we can agree that you are cool, logical, the mind to Harry's heart. But the alchemical link…Harry is Philosophical Sulphur; to be his White Queen you must be marked as Philosophical Mercury, the partner substance to sulphur. What is your astrological sign?"

"I'm a Virgo," said Hermione.

Narcissa clapped her hands in elation. "Virgo…ruled by the planet Mercury. And your name…_Hermione_…female form of Hermes, I'm guessing. Which means Mercury. Actually…_Hermione Granger_…what's the chemical symbol for Mercury?"

"Hg. I used to have a Periodical Table poster on my bedroom wall," said Hermione. Her eyes popped open in wonder. "Oohh…my initials!"

"Oh, _Min_!" Enola cried. "How awesome is _this_?"

"Harry has been looking for you his whole life," said Narcissa. "Lily always thought so. She _knew_ he was a Red King. The Sowilo marker…he's a Leo, ruled by the sun…Leo is a lion -"

"Harry's Animagus form is a lion!" Hermione shrieked excitedly. "And he was in Gryffindor. A lion was the symbol of our house!"

"And its colours were red and gold," Narcissa added. "Harry, a Red King, the very _heir_ of Gryffindor, seeking to become spiritually gold. You know, alchemical adepts are often known as _seekers._ Harry is a very talented Quidditch player, in a very interesting position, is he not? Coincidence? I don't think so."

Hermione had no idea what to say to this torrent of information. She shook her head in wonder. "But what about me? Where do I fit in?"

Narcissa considered her a moment. "The mercury principle seeks, above all else, to join with the sulphur principle. Tell me, how did you and Harry meet?"

Hermione thought back. It seemed a lifetime ago. She smiled at the memory as it reached the surface of her mind. "On the train to Hogwarts. Neville Longbottom had lost his toad. I was trying to help him find it. We checked in Harry's compartment and that's how we met."

"Is that a lie?" asked Narcissa.

"Why would I lie about that?" asked Hermione, affronted.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger," said Narcissa, softly. "It's just that…well, the toad is a symbolic representation of the base matter for the alchemical Work. Some treaties are even written from the _perspective _of a toad. You were searching for that base matter to join with. You found it in Harry. You may have been searching for an _actual_ toad, but in reality, though you didn't know it, you were actually looking for _him_."

Hermione felt her world stop spinning a moment. It gave her dizzying mind a chance to catch up. Narcissa was looking at her in such a way that she wildly expected her to offer her a prayer. Her words rang and swam and hit home with such truth. It was like she'd known it all her life, but the revelation now was simply the most wonderfully incredible thing she'd ever heard. Hermione thought she might explode with the euphoria of it.

"Harry's Patronus is a stag, I believe," Narcissa went on. "A homage not only to his father's spirit, but also as a representation of his part in the alchemical principle. In alchemy, the stag has, as its mate, the unicorn."

Hermione's face dropped. "But my Patronus is an otter."

"But you have been blessed by Lily Potter," said Narcissa, grinning at Hermione's disappointment. "And can you guess what _her_ Patronus was? In any case, a Patronus can change."

"But Min" said Enola, grinning wildly. "Your Patronus is an otter…that's not too far away from a certain surname I know you covet."

"Oh…" said Hermione, blinking in surprise. It was a nice thought, but still… she had to know. She drew her wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Hermione fell to the floor as soon as the horn materialised from the end of her wand. She was so overwhelmed by a wave of such sheer joy that her knees buckled beneath her. The silvery unicorn gambolled around her a while, before nuzzling gently at her bushy crown. She reached up to pet it a moment, before it dissipated away. She was sorely tempted to re-cast the spell.

"Well, that clears that up," said Enola cheerfully. "Congratulations, Min, you are officially the luckiest witch on the planet!"

Hermione grinned back at her. "I already knew _that_. I'm going to marry Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! What more do I need?"

Enola smiled back, but Narcissa turned to her with a serious look. "You need to make it official. You need to join your soul with Harry's, then he can easily be pulled out of you and back into his own body."

"But I don't know how I can do that," said Hermione, before adding bitterly. "I'm still married to that fucking Weasley, aren't I?"

"A Marriage Bond it a standard rite, and all a bunch of legalities," said Narcissa. "We're talking about the union of two _souls_ here. It goes way deeper, far beyond any of that."

"Then we can do it?" asked Hermione, hopefully. "Please tell me we can."

"We can," Narcissa confirmed. Hermione's heart took flight and Enola actually whooped in triumph. "By performing an _Alchemical Wedding _we can join you and Harry on a spiritual level, unifying both the alchemical principles you represent. Do you think Harry would object? It will cause a fundamental change in him."

"How so?" asked Hermione, cautiously.

"Alchemists who stick only to the earthly practices chase the creation of gold, the Elixir and Life and the Philosophers Stone," said Narcissa. "Harry's is a spiritual path and his full union with you will represent the completion of his opus. He would, in a metaphysical sense, _become_ a Philosophers Stone. And the power he could wield with it - that you _both _could - well, it would change the world. It might not be the easiest burden to carry."

"Harry and I will carry it together," said Hermione. "I speak on behalf of my…_soulmate_. I speak for us both. How long will it take to set up the ritual?"

"We have to find Harry's alchemical space," said Narcissa. "We can only conduct it there. But, due to the secret nature of alchemy, Harry has probably hidden it from everyone. Even you."

Hermione smiled. "Perhaps he has. But I have a little friend who can see through even Harry's cleverest ruses."

"You're talking about the girl, the Seer…my _grand-daughter_."

Hermione blinked in shock. She hadn't thought, stupidly hadn't made the connection from Draco to Narcissa. She took a breath. "Yes. Her name is Celesca. I'm sure she can find this secret Cell of Harry's."

"Then take me to her."

"Not before I speak to her mother," said Hermione. "If Luna is happy for you to see her, then I'll allow it. If not, I'll see her alone."

"That girl is my grand-daughter," said Narcissa. "She represents the future of the Malfoy line. This current state of being is only temporary. The Ancient and Noble Houses will be restored. And this girl will stand to inherit my title of Lady Malfoy."

"That may all be true," said Hermione firmly. "But she is also the product of your son _raping_ Luna Lovegood. I can't, and I wont, ignore that. Luna is a good friend of mine. Besides…this is _my_ house…and what I say goes."

Narcissa looked shrewdly at Hermione. "Very well, my Lady. I make a formal request to see my grand-daughter. Will you please petition her mother on my behalf?"

"I shall," said Hermione. "But if she refuses, I will honour her wishes. In the meantime, what else can I do to prepare for this ritual?"

"Well," said Narcissa with a little smile. "You might want to pick out a nice dress…you are getting _married_ after all."

Hermione smiled back and hurriedly left the room. She wanted to squeal and lose happy control, and it wasn't the sort of thing a Queen did in public.


	13. A Chemical Wedding

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. **Extra Disclaimer:** SMUT. There is sex in this chapter, in a few forms, some graphic. And copious female nudity and discussion thereof. This is an M rated fic, you have been warned. This wont be a trend, but it is an introduction to smut, as Harry and Hermione's wedding night is up next…just saying :)

* * *

Luna rocked baby Alison in her arms and cooed gently to her. Neville and Enola's daughter gurgled and burped happily in response. Luna's own daughter giggled and smiled at the baby, smoothing her downy-haired head with a delicate hand. She looked up at Hermione, watching the scene nearby. It was stirring all kinds of intense broodiness in the older witch. Hermione hoped very much that Harry would end the war pretty soon, once he was revived.

Because, after that, he was _so_ going to put a baby in _her_.

He didn't know it yet, and Hermione idly wondered what he would think about it when she told him. She fancied that he'd like the idea. He'd always wanted a family, she knew this intimately well. The first time he'd gone from being _cute_ to _attractive_ in Hermione's eyes was that night he told her about Sirius' plans to essentially adopt him. His face had glowed with such fierce joy and emotion…Hermione had wanted to kiss him right there, to bask in that wondrous happiness he was experiencing. She felt sure he would have shared it with her.

After all, she was the only one Harry had ever told of his most fundamental desire in life.

Then it was all snatched away from him so cruelly. Hermione couldn't stand to think about that. She was still deeply affected by the horrors she'd seen in Harry's mind. She realised, with a jolt of shock, that his memory of that night with Sirius must have been hidden in there somewhere, too. She hated to think what else she might have found if she'd stayed longer. She didn't like to consider the implications, but she had to think that she'd only scratched the surface of the darkness Harry boxed away inside

The little Hermione had seen was disturbing enough. She'd had such terrible dreams the previous night, revisiting some of the worst visions she'd witnessed. She woke in a fitful, sweaty state and had run to Harry's beside to hug his prostrate form and pepper his head with little kisses, as though hoping to somehow soothe her own anxiety through physical contact.

It was only through her own respect for his modesty that she hadn't slipped right into bed alongside him and spent the rest of the night there. But she really didn't think Harry would have been too pleased to know she had cosied up alongside him and the stench from his full bedpan. So she returned to her own suite and had Rhian spell her for dreamless sleep.

It felt odd, to know she was carrying Harry inside her. She supposed this was why she was feeling so broody. The idea of carrying another life in her body wasn't a notion she'd ever considered during the horror years of her marriage to Ron. And before that she'd been reasonably convinced she might never get married or have children. In her own mind, she was no-ones idea of attractive. And she had always been a fairly solitary creature. The fact that she'd let even Harry and Ron so close had been something of a wonder in the Granger family.

A family that Hermione was now the sole surviving member of. This only added to her burgeoning desire to get on with the process of producing an heir for the family line.

But there would be no family without her patriarch, so here she was, delivering Narcissa Malfoy's petition to Luna and Celesca.

"I don't know, Hermione," said Luna. "I'm not sure I like the idea."

"I've told Narcissa that I'll respect whatever decision you make, Lu," said Hermione. "So there's no pressure. If you don't want Cesc to meet her grandmother, then that's just tough luck on Lady Malfoy. She can take up her complaints with someone else who'll listen, for all I care…such as the nearest brick wall."

Luna smirked. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"That said, I can't imagine she'll give up easily," Hermione sighed grumpily. "I have the feeling that she will be quite persistent. She seems the formidable sort."

"I know she isn't Draco," said Luna. "And she's trying to help Harry and everything. But she was _there,_ Hermione…when Celesca was conceived. She was in the _room_. She might be on our side now…but she let that happen to me _then_. That's all I can think about."

Hermione's anger flared. Her skin prickled with it. "Luna…I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," said Luna brightly. "You weren't there, how could you know?"

"That's decided then, she isn't seeing Celesca," said Hermione firmly. "Not if I have any say in it. She doesn't deserve to be in the same house as her. As soon as I have what I want from Narcissa, I'll banish her."

"Harry won't let you do that," said Luna. "She's too important."

"My future husband will do as he's told," Hermione grinned.

"It's not just that," Luna went on. She blushed with humiliation. "She makes a good point about about Celesca's heritage. I…well, I don't have much. There's not a lot I can give to her besides my love and care. She'll need somewhere to live, something to live off. I have to think of my daughter's future."

Hermione's heart ached and throbbed with such pity that she hurried to Luna and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You will always have a home with us, both of you," said Hermione firmly. "Don't ever think you'll have nowhere to go. Your place is with us now."

Luna looked back up with humble hope. "Really? Do you truly mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione cried vehemently.

Luna handed baby Alison to Celesca, who began to sing to the sleeping infant. Then Luna turned and enveloped Hermione in such a hug…Hermione gasped in surprise at it. She'd never felt such wholesome affection directed at her before. She felt bashful about accepting it.

"Thank you, Hermione, thank you," said Luna softly. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"You're more than welcome," Hermione replied, smiling into Luna's hair. She felt silly for not noticing how short Luna was before. She had a full head of height on her.

"Do you think Harry will mind that?" asked Luna, breaking away slowly.

Hermione smiled. "Like I said, I'm pretty confident I can coax Harry to a point where he'll do whatever I tell him to."

"Hermione, you're terrible," Luna giggled.

"Maybe, but it's fine," said Hermione off-handedly. "Because I'll _already_ do whatever he tells _me_, so we'll be even."

"So, do you think this ritual will work, to get him out of you?"

"Narcissa seemed pretty confident," said Hermione. "We just need to find Harry's Alchemy Cell. Then we can have this…_alchemical wedding_…and I should be able to do the rest."

"Is it going to be like an _actual_ wedding?" asked Luna. "Are you going to change your name and things?"

Hermione hadn't thought of that. So she did now. And she grinned wildly to herself.

"Yes, I'm going to do that," said Hermione. "Narcissa says it's a deeper bonded wedding than a standard Marriage Bond so, as Harry has taken the Weasley link from me, I'm going to consider my marriage to Ron over, hopefully break the magical Bond he forced on me, and officially become Harry's wife. Wow. I'm suddenly _ridiculously_ excited! Thank you, Lu! You're a genius."

And she kissed the top of Luna's head. She wasn't kidding about her excitement. She was so overcome with all sorts of flutterings that she became comically restless, and had to pace the room three times to calm herself. A bit. Then it just started up again she felt like jumping off the roof with the euphoria.

She was fairly certain her elation would cushion the fall.

"I'm so happy for you," Luna beamed. "You just have to find this Cell, then. Any ideas where it might be?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping Celesca might have a look for me," said Hermione, carefully. "Harry's hidden it, you see."

"It's in his bedroom, behind the big bookcase," said Celesca simply, without looking up from baby Alison.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. She exchanged startled looks with Luna.

"How do you know that, sweetheart?" asked Luna.

"I've been there," said Celesca dreamily, flicking her eyes to her mother. "I've been all over the house in my mind. There's a funny ghost in the cellar. He was a pirate when he was alive. I like his hat. Do you think I can get one?"

"If you can show me how to get into Harry's Alchemy Cell I'll buy you a whole costume and a lifetime's supply of rum!" Hermione laughed.

"That's an easy deal," Celesca grinned. Then she frowned. "What's rum?"

"Something only big girls can have," said Luna, exchanging a knowing smile with Hermione. They had previous with this one.

"Oh. Well, as long as I can get the hat," Celesca chirruped happily. "Shall I show you now?"

"Lead on," said Hermione excitedly.

"I have to put the baby down first," Celesca pointed out reasonably. "She wants to come, but she needs to learn to walk before she explores the house. I told her that."

And Hermione was back to being stunned again.

"You…you can _talk_ to the baby?" she breathed.

"Oh yes, " said Celesca breezily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not like you and me talk though. She just makes funny noises. But I know what she means, and she understands words. So I sort of put my meaning in her mind, and she knows, and talks back like that. She likes Mister Harry a lot. He's her favourite. He's my favourite, too."

"He's a lot of people's favourite," said Luna, grinning madly at Hermione, who blushed all over.

"But I like you a lot too, Miss Hermione," Celesca babbled on. "Baby Ally doesn't know you too well. She thinks you're frightened of her. Are you, Miss Hermione? You shouldn't be, you know. She's only a baby."

"I haven't been around babies much," Hermione replied. "I…I suppose I'm afraid I'll do something wrong and break her."

Hermione shied away, embarrassed at voicing this niggling concern she was fighting with from the back of her mind.

Celesca giggled crazily. "You wont _break_ her! And she wont hurt you. I can show you if you like. How to hold her and feed her and things. I'm sure she wont mind. I'll ask her next time."

"Okay." Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the conversation.

By this time they were mounting the main staircase of the house, questing for the seventh and uppermost floor. Hermione had never been up here, as the entire floor was Harry's personal suite and chambers. It seemed a bit delinquent to be coming up here without his permission. But Celesca, who was leading the way, seemed to have no mind for such propriety as she bounced along ahead of them.

Hermione swooned at the rooms up here. They were, in a word, beautiful. And elegant. There were reception rooms, and a study, and a cute little breakfast room. There was a large bathroom and rooms just for Harry's clothes. Hermione noted, with a pang of heartache, that he had an entire set of shelves just for his different scarves and shawls. They were divided between those that had been spelled with antiseptic and pain-relief enchantments and those still awaiting the treatment. Hermione looked sadly at them and resolved to redouble her efforts to find a way to heal his ruined face.

She simply would not stand for him to be in any sort of pain any longer.

"Come along, Miss," Celesca called, stirring Hermione from her impending bout of misery. "Mister Harry's secret room is just in here."

Hermione took a breath and moved through to Harry's bedroom. Her heart skipped as she considered that, very soon, it would be her bedroom, too. _Their_ bedroom. She took a first look around the place where, hopefully in a few short days, she and Harry were going to create a very _different_ kind of magic to anything they'd approached so far. She took a step inside.

And promptly collapsed. For the potency of the sex magic Harry had _already_ imbued within the place for her was simply devastating.

"Miss Hermione!" Celesca yelped. "Are you okay? Did you trip?"

"Hermione?" asked Luna, looking at her swarthily with twinkling eyes. "Are you all right?"

Hermione rolled out of the room, breathing heavily and clenching her thighs together tightly. She was fitfully embarrassed. What the complete _fuck_ was _that!?_ Blood throbbed below her waist, and she had to bite hard on her lip to stop herself panting lustily. Surges of unbridled pleasure were _still_ washing through her, flooding her. _Flood_ was quite an apt word, she thought naughtily. She would have to change her knickers before facing the world today.

_Merlin, Harry! What exactly have you been planning!_

One thing was for certain, she couldn't _wait_ to find out. But, for now, she had to compose herself. Poor Celesca…she looked frightfully concerned, not to mention confused. She was hurrying over to help.

"Are you okay, Miss Hermione? Can I do anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Hermione struggled out. "I just lost my balance, that's all. I'm okay."

"It must be that strong magic in there," said Celesca thoughtfully. "It's so _weird_, isn't it? I don't know what sort of magic that is, do you?"

Hermione and Luna locked eyes and fought back insane giggles of their own.

Luna came over and helped Hermione back to her feet. "Neville's wife told me you were the luckiest witch on the planet," she whispered into her ear. "I have to say I think I agree with her!"

"Lu…I don't think I can go back through there," Hermione laughed, clutching onto Luna as she fell about giggling. Her knees were still shaking. "Seriously…can you find a way to open the door to Harry's Cell and I'll just Apparate in?"

Luna fought back a laugh. "I'll try. But it's not easy for me, either. The magic in there is clearly designed for _you,_ but it's effects…_phew_! It's so _dense. _Harry has _got_ to build a room like this for the rest of us girls, somewhere else in the palace. Do you think you can persuade him?"

"It'll be my wedding gift to all of you," said Hermione, grinning. "As long as you can get the alchemy room open."

Luna turned and re-entered the room. Hermione bit back another giggle as Luna's footsteps faltered and she swayed a little as she crossed the floor. But she was a trooper. She made it to the bookcase, which was just as well as it provided something sturdy to hold onto. She was all sorts of flustered.

"Are you okay, Mummy?" asked Celesca, curiously. "You've gone very red."

"I-I'm fine, sweetie," said Luna, her voice at least an octave higher than usual. "Now, how do we get in?"

Celesca eyed her mother with a slight frown. "On the second shelf down, pull out the third book from the right. Then the door opens."

Luna followed the instruction and, sure enough, the bookcase swung back to reveal the hidden chamber. Luna bundled Celesca inside and hurried in after her. Hermione wasted no time in joining them. She apparated right to Luna, who was leant over a wash basin splashing cold water on her face. Celesca was still frowning.

"What's _wrong_ with you two?" she asked crossly. "You're being very _weird_."

"It's nothing, honey, honest," said Hermione. "Now, let's have a look around in here, shall we?"

It was an odd sensation, to be standing in the place where she was going to get married, and Hermione simply basked in it for a moment. The silly grin she wore made her the most girlish she'd probably ever looked in her whole life. She stepped around the room - there was a large fire pit, a couple of golden perches - that Hermione guessed were for Harry's phoenix - and a huge copper bathtub which looked like it was used more for ceremony than hygiene. She gasped. It probably _was…_and the next ceremony it would be used for…

"Hermione," Luna breathed quietly. "Look at _this!_"

Hermione stilled her whirring mind and crossed back to Luna. The basin she'd been washing in was part of a beautifully ornate dresser, oak and glass and trimmed with gold. It had clearly been magically modified; the central compartment held a workshop's worth of spindly equipment, and the top drawer was teeming with potion vials. But this wasn't what had caught Luna's eye. She directed Hermione's attention to a spot just to the right of the enamel basin.

And Hermione's breath caught in her lungs.

For there, sat in a pretty, purple velvet box, was the most beautiful silver diamond ring she'd ever seen. And when Luna offered it to her, she noticed a tiny little detail that brought joyous tears to her eyes. For either side of the stunning stone, set into the band in delicate white gold, were two letters.

"H…and P…" said Luna, her voice awestruck and quiet. "Your initials…your _new _initials! The same as Harry's now. Hermione…Harry's made you your _wedding ring!"_

Hermione clasped one hand to her mouth, holding the ring in trembling fingers in the other. She turned it slowly, watching the way the light caught it at different angles. It was the single most beautiful piece of jewellery Hermione had ever seen. She looked down at her hand, and the finger it would soon be on.

And she scowled angrily. That piece of ugly, probably fake, gold was in its place. Bland and dirty. Hermione hated it with all her being. She glared at it, cursed and railed at it. She turned her hand and thought all negative things at once, about the ring, about the one who'd forced it on her, about all the abuses it had allowed him to visit on her. Hermione felt her fury building and building, it was like a gathering storm. She didn't want to let it out, in case it scared little Celesca. But she could feel the potency in the way the air around her was heating up. She wasn't sure she could rein it in. And then…

The hated ring simply cracked in half on her finger.

Hermione watched the two pieces fall from her hand like it was an out-of-body experience. They hit the floor with a light tinkle. Something was lifting from her, too. It was like casting off a heavy load that she'd become so used to carrying she didn't realise it was still there, until she'd been relieved of it. And her joy was unprecedented. It moved swiftly into new parts of her. She felt full up with it. It was enough to send her mindless.

"Miss Hermione! You did it! You did it!" Celesca was singing happily. She started doing a crazed sort of jig, then snatched her arms around Hermione's waist.

"What did I do?" asked Hermione. She knew she'd done _something_, but she needed this young Seer to define it for her.

"You broke the barrier! You opened up!" Celesca chimed. "I can see in you now. All the way in! And it's so _pretty_ in there, Miss! Oh…and…and oh…"

"What is it?" Hermione asked quickly. Celesca seemed fit to burst.

"I can see Mister Harry now!" Celesca chirped excitedly. Her words were speeding out of her. "That's where he's been hiding!"

Hermione's heart melted. She needed to sit down. But she needed information, too.

"How is he? Tell me he's all right. Please."

"Oh, he's fine, Miss, don't worry," said Celesca off-handedly. "He's sleeping right now and…_oh_…he hasn't got his _scar_ in there! He's quite pretty without his scar, isn't he, Miss Hermione?"

Hermione laughed happily. "Yes, he really is. I need to know how to get him out. Celesca - do you think you could create a bridge, like you did before?"

"No, Miss, it doesn't work like that," said Celesca. "I went from you to him before, and I can't go so deep into anyone, like where Mister Harry is now in you. No, for that you need Nanny Cissa. She'll know what to do."

Hermione shot her eyes up in startled shock. Luna wrung her hands anxiously.

"Cesc, sweetie, how do you know about _her_?" asked Luna.

Celesca looked innocently at her mother. "Don't be cross, Mummy, but I've always known."

"How?"

"You'll tell me off."

"I really wont, sweetie," said Luna, kneeling at Celesca's side. She was quivering in nervous fright. "Just tell me how you know about Narcissa."

Celesca wrung her hands. Hermione swooned at the habit copied from Luna.

"When I knew about my special magic," Celesca began, "when I knew I was different, even from others with magic, I wanted to know what it was. I was only two when I knew I could follow the energy lines around me. So I followed the strongest ones. I went to my Mummy's line first…that's how I knew it was you and not Aunty Venusia. It was the strongest and nicest line.

"But there was another one. Just as strong but really horrible. I didn't want to go down it, but I had to. I knew it was from my Daddy, but it was dark and slimy and nasty. I didn't like it one bit. I never went down it again."

"But Narcissa?"

"I could feel her nearby, the day I went down my Daddy's line," Celesca explained. "And her line was quite nice, too. So I went along it and found her. She was waiting for me. She knew I was there and told me everything. She said I could come back whenever I wanted and she'd show me how to use my special magic properly."

Hermione gasped. "Narcissa is a Seer? I never knew."

"No, no, Miss Hermione," said Celesca quickly. "She isn't like me. But she is good with mind magic. Like Miss Enola. She teaches her all about it, too. I think it's because of the job she does for Mister Harry."

"Enola apprentices with Narcissa Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed. "Well, that explains why she's so afraid of her. She's a bit like a fierce old school ma'am."

"So, you've met her lots of times?" asked Luna.

Celesca nodded. "Only in my head though. I know you don't want me to meet her for real. I'm sorry, Mummy. Please don't be angry with me."

Luna drew Celesca into a tight hug. "I'm not angry with you, petal. I'm just surprised, that's all. Your _grandmother_ didn't tell me any of this."

"She's good at keeping secrets," said Celesca. "She told me how to be good at it too, when we were pretending you weren't my Mummy."

"We won't ever pretend that again," said Luna, holding her daughter close. "She wants to meet you properly…would you like to?"

Celesca drew back. "You don't want me to."

"No, it's more that _I_ don't want to," Luna sighed. "But she is your grandmother. If you want to meet her, I wont mind."

"I have to help her with Mister Harry and Miss Hermione's wedding," said Celesca, somewhat shyly.

Hermione looked over in surprise. "I thought you said you couldn't get Harry out of me?"

"No, Miss Hermione, I can't get him," said Celesca. "Only you can do that. But I can help join the pretty energy cords you both have. Can I? I'd really like to see what happens when they meet. They _so_ want to."

"Do they?" asked Hermione giddily.

"Oh yes," said Celesca happily. "It's like two parts of one thing that have been lost from each other. Now they get to join up as they are meant to be. They can't wait for it. And neither can I. You will let me, won't you?"

Celesca was looking so earnestly at Hermione that she couldn't have refused her even if she did have any objections. Which she didn't. She rubbed at her chest. She could almost _feel_ this energy herself now, reaching out like a coil from her own heart, questing for its complimentary half, beating away in Harry's chest downstairs.

"Of course I will, honey," Hermione smiled.

"Oh good," Celesca beamed. "Nanny Ciss will be ever so pleased. We should go and tell her now. Then you and Mister Harry can get married today."

Hermione was sure her heart was going to burst out of her body. It was lucky her hand was already on her chest to keep it in.

"Well…okay," she said after a minute, holding her breathing as steady as possible. "I'll go to Narcissa, tell her everything. Could you please find Enola for me. I need her."

"What for?" asked Luna.

"Well," said Hermione shyly. "I'm going to need a Maid of Honour. And one of her dresses. They are far prettier than any of mine."

* * *

The air in the room was seriously tense. On the one side was Narcissa Malfoy, standing in an almost regal pose, but waiting, Hermione thought, with dignified respect. Facing her, Luna was pulling Celesca close to her side, her hand firmly around her shoulders. The little girl looked like she didn't know how to be, torn between these two forces literally crackling in the face of one another.

And in the middle of it, Hermione. Anxious, edgy, not at all sure how this was going to go.

Narcissa broke the heavy silence between them.

"Miss Lovegood. No words can convey my deep regret, my sorrow, over my son's terrible actions towards you all those years ago. Nor my un-erasable shame at allowing you to suffer so horrifically. I am owed to be resented by you forever, and I would expect nothing less. Know only that I was powerless to assist you, trapped as I was under the tyranny of the Dark Lord and my own husband. I mourned for you in the aftermath, but I do not deserve redemption, nor am I arrogant enough to seek it from you.

"I ask only that I be allowed to know your wonderful daughter, my only grandchild. I will respect any boundaries you set and hope, should you have it in you, that we may begin a new relationship through our shared love of little Celesca."

Luna looked over at Hermione, in obvious surprise. Hermione raised her eyebrows in return.

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy, for your sympathy," said Luna. "I suppose I accept that you were unable to help me, and maybe I'm transferring my hate of your son, and of The Dark King, onto you. I can make no promises that I can change that, but I will try, for the sake of my daughter. But I have expectations."

"Of course," said Narcissa, chancing a hopeful step forwards. "Name them."

Luna smiled weakly. "I expect you to spoil her, to love her rotten, to pass on all your knowledge and skill. You know things about her abilities that I do not. She has great need for your guidance. You will help her however you can."

Narcissa smiled deeply. "I can do all of that, Miss Lovegood. I promise you that and so much more. She will want for nothing that I am able to provide."

"Good. I'm glad of that," said Luna. She knelt down and turned Celesca to her. "I'm going to leave you alone to talk with your grandmother. Be a good girl."

Celesca grinned mischievously. "I'm always a good girl, Mummy."

"Yes, you are," Luna smiled fondly. She stood and turned to go.

"I'm staying," said Hermione stubbornly, throwing a look at Narcissa for a challenge. It never came. She turned back to Luna. "I'll bring her back to you when they're done."

"Thank you," said Luna. "I'm going to be in the stables, grooming the unicorns. This dry weather is attracting doxys to their coats."

"Oooh, I'd like to see the unicorns!" cried Celesca. "You will take me there later, won't you, Miss Hermione?"

"Of course, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Now, go and meet your Nana properly. I'm sure you have lots to talk about."

Celesca skipped to Narcissa and they retreated to a couch near the window. Hermione sidled up to Luna.

"Don't worry, I wont let Narcissa turn her into a Malfoy," Hermione grinned firmly. "Good ploy with the unicorns, though. All little witches love unicorns."

"What ploy?" asked Luna innocently, whipping out a brush. "I _am_ going to the stables."

Hermione shifted awkwardly. "Oh, right. Well, I'll bring her to you in a bit."

Luna took one last, sad look at Celesca before leaving the room. Hermione turned and frowned at the two on the couch. They were already thick as thieves and chattering away rapidly. Hermione moved to a cosy chair near to them, and took a book down from a case that was in an alcove there. She felt that immediate sense of contentment that having a book in her lap brought to her. She didn't even have to know what it was about. There were just fewer things more symbiotic in the world than Hermione Granger and some oversized tome.

She caught herself daydreaming as she sat there. It was quite possible, if all went to plan, that she would be married to Harry by the end of the day. This house, and everything in it, would then be officially hers, even though she'd been lording it over everyone as Lady of the Manor for weeks already. It would be beyond contestation by the next dawn. And, as she sat there and watched birds rise from the distant orchard, she found herself in the throes of fantasy.

She dreamed of herself in a years' time, sat in this same chair, looking out at the same orchard. It would be her orchard by then. Harry could be quaffing the cider pressed from its apples. She would have a book in her hand, and she'd be blissful with that. Celesca would be there, too, but not talking to Narcissa. She'd be cooing to a newborn baby, talking to it with her incredible Seer ability.

And Hermione wondered if she and Harry would have a boy or a girl first.

The thought jolted her awake and set her heart to tremulous beating. She was smiling wildly to herself. She knew she was. It might have looked like she was going a bit mental to anyone who was watching, but she couldn't help it. What would she prefer first? It was such a happy conundrum.

She had to think she'd prefer a little girl. She was falling a bit in love with Celesca and, if Luna ever decided she was bored with being a Mum, maybe she'd let her adopt her. Hermione marvelled at herself and considered what Harry would prefer. The very notion that they would even be able to have such a conversation was so insane that Hermione wanted to laugh out loud, just because she could.

The ring now missing from her finger had been such a burden. The last true link to the Weasleys and her abusive marriage. She felt herself again, more and more so each hour. But it was more than that. She felt a better her, a stronger one. She'd come through a horrendous time, been beaten but not broken. And the universe had rewarded her with Harry.

She had to think it would reward her with a baby from him, too.

She hoped that would turn out to be true, but they had a world to change before all of that. Besides, she'd already given Narcissa half an hour with Celesca and, in Hermione's mind, that was plenty enough. She had her own needs with Lady Malfoy and that was a decent excuse to divert her attention away from Luna's daughter. And it was Celesca herself who gave Hermione the perfect opportunity to jump in.

"Miss Hermione?" she asked. "Nanny Cissa says that you're going to need someone to bring you your ring at your wedding. As I can't be a flower girl, do you think I could do that instead?"

"I can think of nobody I'd rather have as my ring-bearer," Hermione smiled. Celesca clapped her hands gleefully. Then Hermione had a disturbing thought. "But, Lady Malfoy, Harry said that I'd have to be one of his Acolytes before the Knights of St David would accept me as his consort. He was keen to uphold the traditions of protocol. Will there be…I mean…they wont _object_ to our marriage, will they?"

Narcissa considered her thoughtfully. "Actually, they _might._"

Hermione felt like the bottom had just dropped out of her bright new world. "But why? Don't they like me?"

Hermione heard her own pitiful, anxious voice echo around her parlour. Celesca turned to her with an encouraging smile.

"Of course they like you, Miss Hermione! Don't be silly."

"I tend to agree with my granddaughter," said Narcissa. "During the few days I've been here, the consensus seems to be that everyone is quite enamoured with you."

Hermione blushed. "Then why would they object to me marrying Harry?"

"It wouldn't be a personal thing, but more a matter of protocol," Narcissa explained. "They wouldn't _want_ to object, but their positions might demand it of them."

"Then…I can't get married to Harry today, can I?" Hermione whimpered sadly.

"We could always conduct the Acolyte induction first," said Narcissa.

Hermione's eyes popped open in hope. "But Enola said you have to use a special ritual circle in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwryndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?"

Narcissa looked over in surprise. "We call it _Llanfair P.G._ for short. But well done on the pronunciation. Ordinarily, that would be right. But Harry has created an equally powerful circle here, for his alchemy. We can use that space just as well."

Hermione frowned. "I've been working on that tongue-twisting place name for _weeks_!" she complained bitterly. "Ennie said I had to perform a vocal Apparition spell to find it!"

Narcissa laughed. "I blame myself. I started that particular _initiation_ requirement as a bit of a laugh. It does demonstrate commitment to the cause, though. To tell the truth, I can't even say it myself."

"Pack of bitches," Hermione complained crossly. Then she remembered that she was still going to get married to Harry after all. And her mood brightened up immensely. "So, can you set up the induction today?"

"Yes, we have everything we need," said Narcissa. "But you have to know what you're swearing into. This isn't something to enter into lightly."

Hermione scoffed. "I can only wed Harry if I'm in this Order, and his mother was in it, too. I don't need to know anything else."

"Lily Potter was the Head of this Order," said Narcissa. "When she died, I took over from her. And now, once you are Harry's wife…you will be expected to take over from me."

Hermione gasped. "But I don't have the faintest clue about that! That's bloody unreasonable!"

"Relax, Miss Granger, I will prepare you for it," said Narcissa. "If you are willing, I can take you as an apprentice. I apprenticed under Lily and I will pass on all the knowledge you will need."

"Thank you," Hermione sighed. "I will definitely need some help. I feel like there's so much I don't know, about so many aspects of Harry's life."

"Just take one thing at a time," said Narcissa, gently. "The Acolytes, for example. We are the female side of the chief protectors of the Merlinic line. We have its secrets to protect, its honour to uphold. We are separate from the Knights only because of the sexual connotations of naked ritual."

Celesca threw her hands to her mouth and started giggling. "You said '_naked_'!"

"Yes, I did," said Narcissa seriously. "Many of our rituals call for the participants to shed their clothes."

Celesca looked up in horror. "I'm never doing one of _those_ then! Miss Hermione's wedding wont be like that, will it?"

"No, but the Induction will," said Narcissa. "Will that be a problem for _you,_ Miss Granger?"

Hermione baulked. Then lied. "No. But I'd better go and see Enola. I'm sure she'll have some sort of robe for me to wear. Pretty sure it will be inappropriate to walk naked around the house. Unless that's another part of your _initiation?"_

Narcissa smirked. "No, you're quite safe from that."

"Then if I don't need to know anything else, I'll return Celesca to her mother," said Hermione.

"You go and prepare yourself for your wedding," said Narcissa. "I will deliver my granddaughter back to her mother. I need to discuss a few things with them both."

Hermione frowned. She didn't like that, but there was a finality to Narcissa's tone which suggested she would brook no opposite to her decision. So, with a huff, Hermione agreed. Then she went to look for Enola. She had an important question to pop to her.

* * *

Enola tried hard not to skip. Or bounce. But it was quite the impossible thing. For pure elation had been in short supply just lately around the palace. And, now that she had some, she was allowing herself to revel in it, like a pig in shit. So, here she was, moving through her walk-in wardrobe, humming happily to herself and thoroughly determined to do the best job she could.

After all, it wasn't every day that a girl was asked to be a Maid of Honour.

And she _was_ honoured. But she felt slightly guilty at the same time. For she was now firmly convinced that Hermione had become her best friend. Enola had felt it creeping in surreptitiously for ages, but this conversation had simply confirmed it. Hermione had replaced Cassie, who Enola had known for much longer, in that coveted spot in her heart. Enola had let her go with crushing sadness, but she was powerless to prevent it.

For there was just something magnetic about Hermione Granger. She had a way of drawing people to her, in much the same way that Harry did. It was just natural that they were drawn to each other. And the happiness that Hermione inspired in Harry…well, it melted Enola's heart. For if anyone deserved happiness in Enola's eyes, it was Harry. And Hermione, who had suffered dreadfully in her own way, was equally as deserving of that unbridled joy, that their union promised to bring.

Enola was just fitfully excited over the whole thing.

But what outfit to pick? Hermione had tasked Enola with this, placed her faith in her. And not just in terms of bridal fashions, but in asking her to be part of the biggest day of her life in this most intimate of ways. She had spoken so warmly of her, of how much she valued her friendship, of how important she'd come to consider her in such a short space of time.

Enola had been humbled, robbed of any kind of vocabulary to respond, of any words that would have done justice to how she felt about any of that.

So she'd just given Hermione a deep hug, skipped into her wardrobe, had a little cry, and then got to work.

She drummed her fingers against her chin as she thought. She noticed a bit of unsightly hair growth there and yelped at the touch. Her wand was out casting hair-removal spells so fast that it would have looked like a blur to anyone who had seen. Had anyone seen? Enola hoped not. She didn't like to think of anyone seeing her with a beard.

This decision was a tricky one. This wasn't going to be a usual wedding, so converting one of her dresses into a standard wedding gown probably wasn't the way to go. And she wasn't sure of Hermione's style, either. Sally had provided her with a wardrobe and Hermione had chosen from that, but it wasn't as if she'd gone to a shop and bought a whole set of outfits to reflect her tastes. She tended to plump for delicate cotton sundresses, but the warm weather dictated such choices, really.

Then there was the fact that this would be a ritual, too. That had to be factored in. Enola knew next to nothing about the alchemical process, so how was she expected to dress a White Queen for her alchemical wedding? Well, that was a start. She had to be in white, obviously. Enola flicked her wand and all her white dresses were suddenly floating in front of her. She didn't have many, she was going through a phase of liking pastels. It made this easier. It was now a choice of seven.

She discarded two immediately. They were far too sexy. The neckline of one plunged to around her belly button for Merlin's sake! Another two were maternity dresses. She decided to keep those. She was coming around to the idea of maybe trying for a brother for Ally. She'd like to give Neville an heir for the House of Longbottom. If she could ever coax him back to the process of making one with her.

Of the three that remained, one of the dresses was her own wedding dress. She twirled it fondly in her hands, feeling the softness of the lace bodice. She wondered…it would be a fitting gift.

Hermione gasped when she showed it to her. "It's _beautiful, _En…but I can't. This was yours."

"I know," said Enola brightly. "But you can always give it back, if you like. I intended to give it to Ally on her wedding day anyway. You can think of it as your _Something Borrowed_."

"Oh, Ennie…if you're sure," Hermione whispered reverently. "It is beautiful."

"Then that's settled then," Enola smiled. "Stand still and let me take your measurements. We'll need to resize it a bit."

Hermione did as she was told and Enola flicked her wand, conjuring a tape measure, which began taking Hermione's dimensions on its own. It did the usual - height, waist, shoulder breadth, bust, inner thigh…quite why it felt the need to measure the distance between Hermione's nostrils and eyebrows was anyone's guess, but Enola just left it to it. She busied herself making the alterations to the dress as required.

"Do you plan to have a standard wedding after all this?" she asked, using her wand to take an inch from the hemline.

"Fuck yes!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'm actually thinking of researching marriage customs in every culture on Earth and marrying Harry in each of those, too. Just to be sure. We could have a marriage a month. I wonder if he'll mind."

Enola laughed. "I doubt it. Think of all the rampant wedding night sex he'd get!"

Hermione blushed. "I'm trying to focus on this one, first. I'm a bit terrified I wont be able to keep it together..to perform for him."

"What do you mean?" asked Enola, quirking her eyebrow.

"Haven't you heard?" asked Hermione. "Harry has performed ritual sex magic on our _bedroom_! He's cast spells, drawn runes and who knows what other kind of symbols, charged crystals, placed totems…fuck me, En, I had a multiple orgasm just stepping inside! I've never seen magic like it."

"What!" cried Enola dreamily. "Really?"

"Yep," Hermione nodded. "Poor little Celesca was with me. She didn't know _what_ was happening!"

"Does…does it affect other people, or just you?" Enola asked swarthily.

"Well, Luna could barely walk when she passed through it," said Hermione with a giggle. "And when I asked your mother to have a look at what Harry had_ actually_ done up there, she didn't return for over an hour. So, I'd say yes."

"Hmmm," Enola swooned. "You really are the luckiest witch alive, Min. Do you know?"

"I'm starting to see it," Hermione grinned. "It's a nice change from being one of most cursed, as I was six months ago."

"It feels like you've been with us forever, though," said Enola thoughtfully. "I really am so happy for you, Min. I truly am."

"Thank you," said Hermione, as Enola gave her a hug. "And not just for agreeing to do this for me today. I mean for everything you've done for me. You've been so kind since the day I arrived. I know I was a bit of a dick, being jealous of you at times…I mean, it's not your fault you are so gorgeous…but you really are my best friend. I hope you don't mind me saying that."

"Of course I don't!" cried Enola, squeezing Hermione again. "I'm honoured. You're my best friend, too. I just _love_ that you asked me to be your Maid of Honour! I hope I get to be it for all of your other fifty-odd weddings, too!"

Hermione laughed and they broke apart. "Let's just see how you do at this one first! I brought you a book about alchemical weddings from Harry's library. Well, it's _my library_, really. I actually think I might ban Harry from it, unless he's bringing me more books. He's a bit too boisterous for his own good. He might break something in there, and that just wont do at all. I'd be be so cross with him. Anyway, you're going to need to have a look at the book. There's a piece in there about the Maid and the Best Man. You have a serious role to play."

"I do? Even better!" said Enola. "I'll have a look when we're done. Oooh…who's going to be the Best Man?"

"I'm pretty sure Harry wants Neville to do it," said Hermione. "He's the obvious choice, too."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, Harry sort of…_told me."_

Enola shot Hermione a curious look. "Harry told you? How?"

"Well, I was reading the book about the wedding and I got to the bit about the Maid of Honour and Best Man," said Hermione. "You were the only one I wanted to ask, I didn't even think about anyone else. But then I thought about who Harry might want to have as his Best Man. I thought about Sir David, or one of the other members of Harry's Circle. Then I thought about Nev and I just felt this weird surge of emotion inside me. It was like really powerful enthusiasm, but it hadn't come from me. I think that was Harry's way of telling me who he wanted."

"How bizarre," said Enola thoughtfully. "It must be weird, knowing he's inside you."

"It is a bit, but it's comforting," said Hermione with a fond smile to herself.

"It'll be more than comforting later, when he's inside you in a _different_ way!" said Enola with a dirty wink.

"Don't start," said Hermione, blushing furiously. "I can't keep my head on straight about _that_ as it is! Seriously…does this tape measure _really_ need to know the length of my toenails?!…"

* * *

Neville had decided that he had to see this for himself. He wouldn't believe it was possible until he had. Even Harry wasn't capable of magic like _that_. The witches of the house just had to be wrong.

They just had to be. Every single of them.

For that's all they were all talking about. Harry sex room. Neville laughed just by thinking about it. It was typical Harry, meticulous planner as he was. But to create such powerful, lingering effects…that was new a standard even for him. The work that must have gone into it was astonishing to consider. If any of it was right at all. Which Neville doubted.

Still, wouldn't hurt to have a look.

Besides, his hunt for Enola was proving fruitless. Sally - poor, one-armed Sally - had come to find him, telling him his wife was looking for him. So he had starting looking for _her_. They must have been looking in the wrong places, because neither had found the other one yet. And Neville had been at this for an hour already.

And everywhere he went, and everyone he asked, was busy talking about the same thing. The sexual magic Harry had imbued into his bedroom. It was, literally, the _hot_ topic of the day. Apparently, some of the witches rescued from Hengest - who had been rehoused on Harry's vast estate - had even queued up outside the room to experience it for themselves. The visions of _that_ made Neville's head spin.

So now he was going to see it for himself. Then he was going to sit in one place and wait for Enola to find him later.

He supposed he should feel guilty, for coming up to Harry's personal space without his permission. But then, if the rumours were true, everyone else had already done it, so why should Neville be the odd one out? That ship had sailed. He hadn't been up here in years…and the memory of it didn't sit well with him at all.

For it was the day after the third anniversary of Harry's supposed death. He knew that Hermione held a party for him every year, and that people still loyal to him attended. Ron had sworn after the second year he wouldn't go again. That year it had been held at number six, Privet Drive. The house had been vacant for years. Nobody seemed to want to buy it…not after the brutal murders of the family living at number four. The other residents of the cul-de-sac all swore it was haunted…

So Hermione had set up the party there, hoping its link to Harry would draw his spirit. It didn't, obviously, but it did draw Neville Longbottom. He transformed himself into his Animagus shape - a dragonfly - and hid in a lampshade to watch proceedings and report back to Harry on how Hermione was.

The net result of this report was that Harry had set fire to half the palace in his fury.

For that very morning, Ron had broken Hermione's arm and dislocated her shoulder. He had tried to stop her from going to the Deathday party, twisting her arm to snap it, then tearing it from its socket as she tried to break free from him. She was in excruciating agony, but she wouldn't fail to host the Deathday Party for anything. So she'd gritted her teeth, fashioned a makeshift sling from a tablecloth, and born the pain as best she could.

Harry didn't have anything like the same sort of restraint. It was the first time Neville had seen Harry's rage turn _incendiary_. It certainly wouldn't be the last. Especially where Ron Weasley was concerned. Neville had felt powerless to stop him, had no idea what he was supposed to do. If Harry hadn't knocked himself out, by bringing a whole roundtower down on top of himself, Neville was certain the outcome would have been too horrendous to even think about.

And that was the last time he'd been in Harry's bedroom, to deliver his broken body to start its recovery. But now, here he was again, and it was just bizarre to compare the two circumstances. He chuckled to himself, pondered just how filthy a mind Harry _really_ had under all that bravado, and opened the door to the bedroom. And lost his breath in an instant.

For there, on top of Harry's messed up sheets, was Enola, one hand down her knickers and pounding away furiously, the other roughly pinching the nipple of her exposed breast.

Neville had never gone so hard in all his life. He felt the power of the room wash over him just standing in the doorway. His groin throbbed, it _ached_. He had to grab it and squeeze, it wasn't even a choice. Enola's throaty moans were just the most erotic sounds Neville had ever heard. He just stood and watched her, captivated by her display. She had torn open her dress in her lust, quite literally. Neville could see the buttons where they'd been ripped off. And now his wife was writhing around in ecstasy.

His wife. He'd never fully believed that. That this girl, this absolute vision of beauty, was his wife. That she'd chosen _him,_ little Neville Longbottom. He remembered the first day he'd seen her…and the breath she took from him. That smile, that face…that body. He'd never once thought she'd be interested in _him_. Not in a million years. She was Harry's chief carer, that's the only reason she'd have to ever speak to him.

Until she started pursuing him like a predator. And Neville had never been so happy to be hunted in all his life.

And he just looked at her now, marvelled at his good fortune. It was the naughtiest, _hottest_ thing he could imagine. It was like the first time he'd seen her naked, when she did a little striptease for him. And he just stared at her naked form, drank in her astonishing sexiness for fully ten minutes. Before she got antsy and pounced on him. He'd forgotten her lately, neglected her. She had needs…and he needed to man the fuck up.

Well…turnabout was fair play.

Neville's robe was off in a moment and he kicked the door shut, locking it with his wand before throwing it to the floor. The sound alerted Enola, who flipped around in embarrassed shock. But Neville was on her before she could react, pinning her down with his weight as his mouth met hers. He tore at her knickers, pulling them down and driving his fingers into her. She moaned lustily and quested her own digits for Neville's throbbing cock. She wore a look of surprise at its firmness, then began strumming it expertly. He always went wild for her technique.

Then she flipped him around and straddled him. Neville could feel her moistness dripping down onto this thigh. The thought sent waves of hot senselessness speeding through him. Enola moved, repositioned herself…then Neville held her still.

"No, not on Harry's bed," he panted lustily. "This is the marital bed. We cant…Harry would never forgive us…"

"No problem…there's plenty of wall space," Enola purred filthily.

Neville grinned and scooped her up, entering her as they pounded back against the window, the wall. She was deliciously warm and wet. Neville was beyond lust, beyond technique. Enola wrapped her strong thighs around his waist and encouraged him with her movements, mewling throatily as she captured his mouth with her own again. He'd missed this, missed her. How could he have let himself become such a poor husband? He'd make it up to her, as often as he could.

"I've missed you," she breathed sexily into his ear, biting his lobe. "Don't hold back."

Neville was like a jack hammer now, thrusting powerfully. "I love you," he murmured lowly.

"I love you," Enola purred back. "But don't make love to me…just fuck me."

And Neville did as he was told. For five whole minutes. Till he could hold back no more and he spilled into her with a feral sort of growl. They slid to the floor, entangled and sweaty, struggling for air. Enola's eyes were bright and twinkling.

"Harry is _so_ doing this to _our_ bedroom," she giggled, hugging Neville close.

"Damned fucking right he is!" Neville returned, grinning broadly. "And he's doing it tomorrow!"

Enola laughed and clung to her husband. "I was looking for you everywhere. I have a job for you."

"What is it?"

"Harry wants you to be his Best Man," said Enola. "Min told me. They're getting married _tonight_. There's a spell we have to be part of, it's in a book she gave me on it. Explains everything."

Neville grinned naughtily. "Do I get to shag the Maid of Honour afterwards?"

"If you are _up_ for it…you can shag her _now."_

_"_Well, how can I refuse an offer like _that_!" Neville grinned, then flipped his wife till she was face down. She gave a little squeak of surprise, then an altogether different noise, as Neville drove his tongue between her arse-cheeks…

* * *

Hermione ground her fingers nervously as she waited. The silence of the alchemy cell seemed to throb and hum all around her, making her irrationally anxious. What was there to be worried about? She was about to commit herself to an Order dedicated to protecting the most noble of magical family lines…then she was going to become _part_ of that line herself. She fluttered wildly at that idea. Never had her imminent union with Harry struck her so forcefully.

This moment, that she had been waiting for her whole life, both consciously and unconsciously, had finally arrived.

And Hermione was instantly calmed as the thought settled on her. She smiled. She could almost feel Harry trying to ease her, soothe her worries, massage her from the inside. She blushed crazily as she considered that he'd be doing something very similar in just a few hours. Getting inside her and massaging her. She began to fiddle with the tassel on her champagne-coloured silk robe, to offset the rampant urge to pace like a half-wild cat that was suddenly pooling in her belly, and inching steadily lower.

She was pretty sure lusty arousal was an inappropriate state for this upcoming ritual.

Especially with the required nudity. They'd never mentioned _this_ at Hogwarts. But then, Hermione considered, ritual magic had never made the curriculum at all. She frowned a little at that. Witches and wizards were missing out on so much without it. She pitied them a moment. Then got back to all this nudity business.

She smoothed her robe over her breasts and hips, considering her shape. She didn't have much to be concerned about, really. Whilst not athletic or toned, or leggy like Enola, she was in decent trim. She didn't show it off much, but she was nicely endowed in all the right places.

The only thing she was concerned about was her scar.

It usually stayed hidden beneath her layers of clothing, but now it would be on display. A thin, angry purple line, sickle-shaped. Running down her cleavage and under her left boob. It didn't hurt, not like Harry's wounds, but she'd always had an issue with it. Since Antonin Dolohov had given it to her when she was just sixteen, on that fateful night searching for Harry's prophecy at the Ministry. She'd met Dolohov once since then. During the public execution of Filius Flitwick. Dolohov had wanted to have his head mounted as a trophy, his reward for subduing the legendary dueller.

Needless to say, Dolohov was still a massive bell-end.

But Hermione didn't have much time to think about that, as whooshes of apparition suddenly began sweeping around the room. She chuckled to herself. Clearly the other women of the house didn't trust themselves to stay composed, if they were forced to pass through Harry's sexually-charged bedroom. It was all any of them had talked about all day. She bit her lip as she thought about it. The _mess_ she was going to be in when it came time to go to sleep that night…

Hermione eased the thoughts aside. Six witches were now standing opposite her, all bedecked in red-purple ritual gowns with gold tassels. Their hoods were shallow and Hermione exchanged encouraging grins with Enola and Myfanwy. It was with a pang that she noticed Angharad was not among the number, but she was thrilled to see that Luna had stepped into her place.

Then the door opened and Narcissa walked in. Hermione was surprised to see little Celesca striding alongside her. She was carrying a ceremonial candelabra, with a single flaming sconce crackling away at the top. She was concentrating so hard to keep it steady that Hermione had to stifle a fond giggle, lest she disturb her balancing focus.

Narcissa herself was resplendent in an ice-white and silver robe. It shone with intensity and Hermione could feel its power pulsing from across the room. The runes and markings, woven in with silver thread, glinted against the light and pulsed with Narcissa's power like a strobe. She beckoned Hermione forward and she went, halting next to the deep bath.

Narcissa extended her hand and slowly rose it up into the air. As she did, the bath began to fill with a milky-coloured liquid, clearly warm as wisps of steam crept up against the chilled air of the cell. Celesca was watching it with the same look of fascination as Hermione herself wore. Then, movement drew her attention, as Narcissa directed the other witches into a circle around the bath. When they were in position, evenly spaced, Narcissa eased Celesca back into the corner and took the candelabra from her.

"Is it that time?" asked Celesca.

"Yes, my dear, it is," Narcissa smiled. Celesca then flung her hands up over her eyes, pinning them there tightly. Narcissa turned back to the room. "Witches!"

At the command, five of the other women in the room threw their hands up to the knotted tassels at the necks of their gowns. They did it with almost military synchronicity. Luna, who was obviously new to this, swiftly followed suit. As soon as she did, a wave of low level magic swept around the circle. Narcissa then took the sconce from the candelabra, scooped the flame into the palm of her hand without it burning her, then cast it to the floor.

A ring of fire suddenly encircled them, the flames licking to knee height. Hermione felt the warmth envelop her, as well as another touch of that low intensity magic. Then Narcissa clapped her hands…and all the witches pulled simultaneously on their tassels, letting their robes fall to the floor. Not one of them flinched at being suddenly naked. Not even Luna. But, then again, she'd always been a little quirky that way.

Hermione couldn't help but flick her eyes at Enola, standing just to her right. And she huffed. She'd always known it, but the girl was a fucking _goddess_. From her sleek black hair and facial beauty, down through her perfect teardrop-shaped breasts, which were bigger than her clothing let on, to a slender waist, and hips with just enough of a womanly, sexy swell to accentuate those long, smooth legs. Hermione huffed again. This girl had had a _baby_, and yet she looked the very flawless definition of _hot as fuck_. Hermione would definitely be picking her brains for some pointers after this.

And she might start with some personal grooming. Her eyes flickered involuntarily to that triangle between her legs. That _bare_ triangle, in Enola's case. It made her look neat, trim, with the tantalising tease of a tiny hint of slit above her clitoral hood. Hermione looked down at her own version, with hair as wild as that which she had on her head. It had never occurred to her to pay attention to such things during her hated marriage to Ron. She would definitely need to revisit that idea.

But, for now, Narcissa was demanding her attention.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said. "If you will."

She beckoned her towards the warm water of the bath, nodding pointedly at her robe. Hermione took the cords in her hands and gently untied them, huffed once more at her modesty, then pulled the robe from her shoulders. She caught Enola's eye, and her best friend nodded her head approvingly at Hermione's form. Pleased and emboldened, Hermione eased herself into the ceremonial bath.

Then Narcissa shed her own robe. For an older witch, she was in cracking shape, too. She was also slim, and had the toned physique of a yoga master. She took Hermione by surprise as she stepped into the deep bath alongside her, sliding under the milky water to allow it to coat her, before standing again.

"Please move on your knees to me, Miss Granger," said Narcissa.

Hermione bashfully did as she was instructed, pointedly aware that her flushed face was now level with Narcissa's naked crotch. Thankfully, Narcissa turned Hermione to face away from her.

"Witches! Let us begin," Narcissa cried. "Enola Longbottom - imbibe the circle!"

Hermione watched Enola step forward. She cupped her hands out in front of her. Suddenly, a small, domed tower materialised in her hands.

"The athanor - provider of the Secret Flame," said Enola. "I call on the Spirits of Fire to bless our purpose."

A sweep of energy thundered around the circle. Hermione felt it pulse through her body like a sonic boom.

"Alice Longbottom - imbibe the circle!" called Narcissa.

Neville's mother stepped forward. "The horn of the unicorn, a sacred creature. I call on the Spirits of the Earth to bless our purpose."

Another heady sweep of magic coated them all.

"Myfanwy Price - imbibe the circle!"

"The talons of an owl, messengers of the sky. I call on the Spirits of the Air to bless our purpose."

Cassie was called forward last. She conjured miniature waves, which hung surreally between her palms. "The swell of the raging ocean. I call on the Spirits of Water to bless our purpose."

"Thank you, ladies," said Narcissa. "I beckon the power of Arianwen Hart and Luna Lovegood to empower our circle. Witches, raise your hands."

Arianwen and Luna obeyed. Narcissa stood before Luna first, aiming her wand at her right palm.

"The Acorn - the power of Autumn," said Narcissa, conjuring the little nut with her wand. She then turned her wand to Luna's left palm. "And a head of barely, to summon the heart of Spring."

Narcissa crossed to Arianwen. "A snowflake, to call to us, the Winter, and a captured sunbeam, the energy of Summer."

The magic now became so intense that as it heaved around Hermione, she nearly fainted from the force of it. It didn't help that Narcissa was summoning the energy to her and channelling it into the bath, causing the water to slop and swirl violently around them. It was all Hermione could do to keep herself steady.

"Hermione Jane Granger," Narcissa boomed out. "We will now begin your induction to this, our most beloved Order. Do you agree to uphold our Three Tenets?"

"I do," said Hermione.

"Do you agree to honour and protect the most noble magical family line, sired by Merlin himself?"

"I do," said Hermione. A swoosh of magic rushed up through her as the oath settled.

Narcissa reached into the bath, scooped up a double-palmful of the water and let it cascade down onto Hermione's head.

"Do you agree to protect its secrets and never reveal them?"

"I do." Hermione blinked out more water as it crashed into her eyes. She panted hard against another powerful bolt of oath magic, gripping the sides of the bath tightly.

"And do you agree to offer yourself wholly into the service of the Heir Incumbent, Harry James Potter, and obey his Lordship?"

Hermione turned her head to look up fiercely at Narcissa. "For as long as I fucking live."

Narcissa smiled warmly at her, then dumped one last handful of the milky water onto Hermione's now sodden, bushy crown.

"Then, by the power, and authority, bestowed upon me by Harry James Potter, our Lord and Master, I now induct you, Hermione Jane Granger, into the Order of Merlin, Acolyte Class. May you cherish your sistership, and serve the Order with honour and dignity, for the rest of your natural life. When the time is right, you will give to us your menstrual blood, then your covenant with us will be sealed forever. But, for now…Arise, Lady Hermione, Our Sister."

"Our sister!" the other witches chorused.

Hermione stood. Her knees were trembling, the residual magic still tingling all through her. She looked nervously around the circle. Each witch bowed their head to her in a gesture of salute, and she returned each nod with a goofy sort of grin. She felt the oaths and vows settle on her like a gentle mist. And she could feel a new level of connection joining her to them all, and an intense new power, as though she were now part of something visceral and much bigger than herself. It was intoxicating.

"Now, witches, remain where you are," said Narcissa. "Keep the circle flowing with your power, but please re-robe. For we have another ceremony to carry out."

Hermione's insides started doing cartwheels and somersaults, to compete with the insane flutterings drifting over her skin. She couldn't even describe what was going on in her frenzied mind. After the heady magical power of the Induction Ritual, she was still a little giddy. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle what was about to happen.

But there was no way on Earth she was going to miss her own wedding.

It was happening. It was _really_ happening. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. She wasn't curled up in her bed at Hogwarts this time, clutching a pillow between her legs and clenching a fist so hard into the corner that it left creases there. She wasn't going to wake up from this and find she'd fabricated the whole thing. No, this time, the dream was totally real.

She was about to marry Harry Potter.

Hermione had to hold onto the rim of the bath to stop herself from collapsing again. In fact, she decided to sit on it for support. There was simply no way she could keep her feet. Her knees had totally forgotten how to function, in the face of the electric pulses shooting through her entire body. She tried to breathe, but this was a folly.

She was too excited to even do life properly.

Narcissa smiled at her again, as she stepped from the bath and slid her robe back on. "Are you all right, Hermione?"

The use of her first name calmed her. "I'm trying to be. I've just never been this fevered or nervous before. I feel a bit queasy."

"Wedding day nerves are natural," Narcissa smiled. "But, if it makes you feel any better, Harry is physically unconscious. So he can't say _no_. You'll be saying _I Do_ for the both of you!"

Hermione chuckled at that. Then she took the biggest, deepest, most steadying breath she'd ever inhaled in her whole life. And those flickers and flutters just got ten times worse. She huffed happily at them. They weren't going anywhere, so she might as well get used to them.

"Okay. I'm ready. I think."

Narcissa nodded her head. "Enola - the wedding gown, please. Oh, and you can open your eyes now, Celesca."

"Nobody's nudey anymore?" asked Celesca cautiously, peeking through her fingers.

Narcissa waited, until Enola had slipped the dainty white dress over Hermione's damp body, before replying the affirmative.

"You look very pretty, Miss Hermione," Celesca beamed. Then she frowned. "I want a nice robe like everyone else has. Why can't I have one, Mummy? It's really not fair."

"No, it's not, you're quite right," Luna laughed at her. "Here."

Luna flicked her wand and transfigured Celesca's little summer frock into a ritual robe to match the others. Celesca grinned madly and began to fiddle with her high necked, gold-trimmed collar.

"Lady Hermione," said Narcissa. "Could you please summon your Head Elf?"

"Rhian!" Hermione called.

It took a few seconds, but the elf finally popped into view. She looked around crossly. "Forgives me, my Lady Hermione. But Rhian not be knowing where yous be. Not been in here before. Oooh…Master Harry be so _tricksy_. I tell him off for _this!"_

Hermione laughed. "You'll have to take a ticket. I have a _lot_ of things to tell him off for first."

"What's you need, my Lady?"

"Lady Malfoy has need of you," said Hermione. "Please do whatever she requires."

"Very well, my Lady," said Rhian. She turned away from her. "Lady Malfoy?"

"We have a bridegroom who has a wedding to attend," said Narcissa. "Will you please transport Harry into his room next door. And summon Lord Longbottom. He has the role of Best Man to fulfil."

Rhian spun to Hermione, eyes wide and shocked. "Yous getting married now? In here!?"

"Yes, Rhian, we are," Hermione smiled.

Rhian beamed back. "Oh my Lady! This makes Rhian so happy! I fetch Master Harry. Then I tell the other elves. Best to move any babies to somewhere safe. Rhian remembers the last wedding night here…"

She flicked her eyes at Enola, who shrugged shyly. Hermione just laughed at the pair of them.

"Thank you."

Rhian clapped her hands, then popped away. Hermione turned to Narcissa. "Lady Malfoy…how is this going to work? It wont be a standard ceremony, obviously."

"Call me Narcissa, I insist," Narcissa replied. "The ceremony will be simple - you have already been cleansed and purified, your essence dissolved into the white, Mercurial waters. That substance you are sitting in was created from _you_ \- sourced from your very essence. You are ready to receive your perfect partner.

"When Harry arrives, he will join you in the water, and we will draw _his_ essence to add to your own. You will infuse each other, bonding more closely than any normal couple could even hope to imagine. Then Celesca and I will find a way to join your souls. In terms of connected union between two people, we are venturing into unheard of territory. Celesca and I can link your souls together, but then you and Harry will have a lifetime to explore what that really means.

"I truly envy you, Hermione. You are about to be given one the most beautiful gifts that nature has to offer."

Hermione felt a breath escape her. She was beyond humbled. Narcissa's reverent words, her venerated tone…Hermione didn't know how to receive either. She needed Harry, right now. She couldn't deal with all this alone.

And then, he was there, drifting in under Neville's wand. He had been decked out in his golden ritual robe and he looked obscenely handsome. Though asleep.

"Should I sing the wedding march?" Neville quirked. "We will have to have a stag party after the fact. Never pegged Harry to be the shotgun wedding-type."

"Will you please just lower Lord Potter into the water," said Narcissa with a little frown.

"What? Into the _bath_?" Neville queried.

Narcissa looked pitifully at him. "No, into the tiny waves crashing in Cassiopeia's hands! Yes, into the bath!"

"Please, just Cassie," Enola's friend complained crossly.

"No need to get shirty," said Neville shortly. "I've never been to an alchemical wedding before."

Narcissa shook her head at him as Neville slowly lowered Harry's limp form towards the water. Hermione was suddenly fitful.

"Stop! Wait!"

Neville scowled at her in shock. She ignored his questioning stare, then slid down into the water and shifted back to rest against the end of the tub, letting her wedding gown billow up to the surface. She held her arms out. "Okay, go."

Neville grinned at her, turned Harry's body and let it drift under the surface of the milky bath. As soon as he was submerged, Hermione slid her arms around his torso and drew him tenderly close, easing his back into her chest and cradling his lower body with her legs, before gently kissing the top of his head.

"Now we're ready," said Hermione.

Narcissa smiled at her. "Celesca?"

"What do you need me to do, Nanny Ciss?"

"Can you take hold of Harry's soul cord?" asked Narcissa. Celesca nodded. "Good. Do that and guide it into the water."

Celesca stepped forward and closed her eyes, holding her hand over Harry's chest. Her tiny fingers closed around something Hermione couldn't see.

"Got it!" Celesca cried triumphantly. "Right…"

The next thing Hermione knew was that she was swimming in a pool of Harry. That was the best way she could describe it. She felt his power, his energy, all his emotion flowing around her with the swirling water. It was the single most contented moment of her life. She would have happily stayed in it forever.

But, if she had, she would never have experienced the wonder of what happened next.

Narcissa had joined Celesca next to the bath. Her own hand was extended, and that powerful ring-and-wrist-circlet combination was throbbing with magic. Narcissa was muttering rapidly under her breath. A powerful force was surging between her and Celesca and Hermione felt its shock waves penetrate her very bones.

"Good girl, good girl," Narcissa was saying. "Almost…almost…yes! I have him. He can see the way out. Celesca…can you take hold of Hermione's cord, too? Can you handle them both?"

"Yes…yes I think so," said Celesca. "Sorry, Miss Hermione, this is going to feel a bit strange."

_A bit strange_! That didn't even come close. Hermione felt as if Celesca had reached down her throat into the very base of her life energies. She lost her breath at the invasion. She felt something being gently pulled out of her, but she was too shocked by the sensation to offer any kind of resistance or response.

"One minute…one minute…there!" Celesca cried triumphantly. "They're touching! Oh _Nanny…Mummy!_ It's so _beautiful!_ I wish you could see…if only for the light coming off them. It's so _bright!_ It's lovely. I want one."

It was a good thing Celesca was saying something, because Hermione had lost all concept of language. In fact, she'd lost all concept of _everything._ Life was being redefined, rewritten as she floated there, hugging Harry impossibly close. She had no idea how she was still alive, because she'd forgotten how to breathe. All she knew was this connection, this link from her soul, touching Harry's own and fusing with it in the most tender, delicate and unbelievably emotional way, a way she had never even conceived would be possible.

"Never, ever…in my life…" Narcissa breathed. "Have I ever felt anything like this. I think I'm melting."

"I've become a jelly," Enola whispered, nodding in agreement. She was clutching onto Neville, smoothing his hair. He had fallen to his knees, so overcome with the gorgeous emotion shooting all around the circle that he was weeping into Enola's thighs. She cooed to him and held him close.

"You have to finish the ceremony, Nanny Ciss," said Celesca. "Seal them together forever. The ought to never be apart again. It would be so _wrong_ if that happened."

"You're right," said Narcissa, gathering herself again. "Hermione…can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," Hermione spluttered out. She could only imagine how unfocused she looked.

"Are you ready to make your vows?"

"I am."

"Never, in my life, have I come across two people, two souls, so perfectly suited to one another," said Narcissa. "Nature has ordained this union, brought these two halves together. Let all aspects of magic bless and Bond them as One."

"May magic bless and Bond them," the audience recited.

"I call upon the Spirits of Alchemy to Bond this union, to align this perfection," Narcissa went on. She drew two vials from her robe. Offered one to Enola, and the other to Neville, who was still sniffling as he accepted it. "Maid of Honour - seal this union."

"I call on Queen Luna, Goddess of the Moon, to bless this union," said Enola. "I offer mercury, body of the White Queen, and my own blessed power."

She tipped the vial of silvery liquid into the bath. It stirred and heaved with deep energy, turning the water from milky white to shining silver.

"The Best of Men," said Narcissa. "Seal this union."

Neville stepped forward, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. His voice was fracturing as he spoke. "I call on King Sol, Lord of the Sun, to bless this union. I offer sulphur, body of the Red King, and my own blessed power." And he tipped a vial of red liquid into the bath, which transformed from silver to the deepest gold. He stepped close to his wife and drew her into a deep embrace.

If anyone had been watching through a window, they might have thought the room had been hit by a sudden hurricane. Nowhere, in the history of magical Britain, had a level of magic of this magnitude ever been recorded. It would be told and retold by those who experienced it for years to come.

Narcissa took a breath, and held onto Celesca tightly, as though afraid the rushing magic might somehow sweep her away. Then she regarded Hermione again. Of all the people being buffeted by this sparkling, magical gale, Harry and Hermione alone seemed unaffected. It was as if they were the eye of their own, irrepressible storm of delicious emotion.

Narcissa cleared her throat. "May all here bear witness to the spiritual joining of Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger.

"Do you, Hermione, give your mind to his mind? Your thoughts to his thoughts? Your heart…to _his_ heart?"

"I do," Hermione whispered. Tears were coming. She knew it.

"And, in his stead, does he give his mind to your mind, his thoughts to your thoughts? His heart…to _your_ heart?"

Hermione closed her eyes, smiled inside with so much love that it hurt. She didn't need to ask the question. Harry's emotional response was so emphatic it left her senseless.

"He does." The tears came closer to the surface. She could almost feel Harry's spirit inside her rise with them.

"And do you _both,_" Narcissa went on. "Give your soul…to the other's soul?"

Warm tears fell before Hermione could stop them. Her words caught with the joyous sobs they were borne on.

"We do."

And Hermione gasped. She hadn't answered. It wasn't her voice hanging in the air.

And Harry turned his head, his own eyes streaming with tears. He looked so incredibly happy that Hermione felt certain her heart would explode if she looked too long.

"We do," she echoed through her delirious weeping. "We so _totally_ do!"

And then he was kissing her, dragging her under the water with his enthusiasm. They resurfaced a full minute later, spluttering and laughing and clinging onto each so impossibly tightly. Harry looked hungrily into her face, his eye literally every lovely emotion he'd ever felt all at once.

"Hey you," he said softly, stroking her cheek. "You look beautiful."

"It must be a thing, because you look ridiculously handsome," said Hermione, beaming broadly.

"Yeah, it's a thing," Harry grinned. "A _Potter_ thing…Mrs Potter?"

"Not without my ring," she teased back. "Celesca?"

And suddenly she was there, hopping to the side of the bath with the little velvet box. She was grinning stupidly and her eyes were moist with happy tears, too.

Harry took the ring carefully and slipped it onto Hermione's finger. She admired it on her hand. Then she frowned up at Harry.

"But what about yours?"

"You're already wearing it," said Harry. He took her hand and eased the Potter family ring from Hermione, sliding it onto his own wedding ring finger. It had never been there before. They held hands, wedding rings touching. And Harry's transformed in an instant.

As soon as it did, a pulse of the most powerful magic either had ever felt smashed into and cocooned them both. It was so dense it obscured them from a view a moment as it settled on them. They clung to each other for support against the waves and waves of this surging force, until it finally eased off and became a distant throb. They stared at each other in startled surprise.

"I pronounce your soul bond complete," said Narcissa. "Congratulations to you both!"

Hermione beamed at Harry, then gasped in surprise. For all the solution in the tub had vanished. She felt an odd sensation. She couldn't have said how, but she was certain it had been absorbed into her body, and into Harry's, too. He mirrored her stunned look.

"Did you know it would be like this?" she asked.

"No, I've never been married before!" he teased.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know I'm incredibly cross with you, don't you?"

"Of course," said Harry easily. "But let me make it up to you."

Hermione twinkled her eyes naughtily at him. "Does it involve that room next door? And whatever that mind-blowing magic is you've performed in there?"

Harry smiled lustily back. "Oh, honey…_wife_," he began. He let the proclamation of her new role in his life just hang there a moment, so they both could enjoy it. "I haven't even begun to _perform_ in there. _That_…well…that's just foreplay."

"Oh sweet Merlin," Hermione swooned. "Come on, Harry. Take me to your…to _our_…bed. Do you have the strength to carry me over the threshold?"

Harry grinned and hopped out of the bath. To Hermione's immense surprise, he scooped her up as if her weight was nothing. He inclined his head to Narcissa, uttering an unspoken command. One by one, the witches and Neville Disapparated, till Harry and Hermione were quite alone. He looked down into her eyes.

"I love you. I've always loved you."

Hermione felt her heart spin like a Catherine Wheel. It wasn't just the words, she _felt_ their intense truth, pounding inside her. Harry's fierce emotion inside her own body. It was breathtaking.

She smiled up at him again.

"Then _make_ love to me."

Harry grinned again, tightening his hold on her. "As you wish, my Lady."


	14. The Luckiest Witch Alive

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. **Extra Disclaimer:** **HEAVY SMUT** to start and graphic sexual references throughout. This is an M rated fic, you have been warned. If this is my last shot at fan-fiction I'm leaving nothing behind! Enjoy!

* * *

Harry held Hermione close as he carefully carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door to the alchemy cell shut with his heel as soon as they were inside, sealing them in. A whoosh of sex magic accompanied the closing door and Hermione let out her first throaty moan of the night as it crashed through her body.

It wouldn't be her last.

She looked up into Harry's face, wondering if she should be embarrassed or not. Judging by the fire dancing in his eye, she thought probably not. He looked liked he wanted to devour her. She thrilled at that, dripping in anticipation for _that_ moment. But there would be so many moments tonight, Hermione really couldn't decide which prospect excited her the most. In any case, when she considered it as a whole, it was quite simply the most mind-blowing proposition she'd ever been faced with.

Harry gently set her on her feet. For a moment they just stared at each other, not really sure how to begin. So, in the pregnant pause, Harry drew his wand. He held it between his palms and closed his eye, taking in deep, steady breaths. Hermione wasn't sure what was happening, but she could feel a build-up of pressure as Harry pushed out his magic. The air was tautening, congealing, and growing so hot that Hermione could see beads of sweat forming on Harry's brow. Her insides squirmed and wriggled, her breath halted somewhere between her lungs and lips and blood pumped hard between her legs, as Harry's magic swept out from him and enveloped her.

And then, as though he were some sort of sonic pulse, Harry _literally_ exploded.

With a dim flash of light, magic erupted from Harry like a bomb. It rushed into all the runes and markings and totems, charging them with his potent sexual energy. It cracked his bedside table in two. The runes buzzed with sex power, the crystals flashed with light and the very air itself vibrated, as the waves of Harry's magic reverberated off the walls, intensifying like an echo.

But Hermione hadn't noticed any of this. For the force of Harry's magical discharge had caused a wave of orgasms in her so powerful that she'd lost all coherency and collapsed.

Harry helped her back to her feet, a look of deep concern in his eye. He looked fearful, as though he'd done something wrong and expected a scolding. And he was physically trembling. His robe was fluttering with it as he wrung his palms together. He had no idea what he was supposed to do next. And it was, for Hermione in that moment, simply the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

Hermione now took the lead. She pressed close to Harry, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him softly. Up close, he looked even more terrified. His eye was wide with nervous fright. He was back to being a teenage boy again.

"This is how this is going to work, sweetheart," Hermione whispered in a business-like manner. "It's your first time, so you wont last five minutes if we jump right in. Especially with the magic pumping around in this room. Only, I've been waiting for you to fuck me for ten years...so you'd better believe tonight is going to last more than five minutes!

"So, here's what we're going to do - I'm going to get you off first, then we'll give it a few minutes, build you back up and go again. Okay."

"Okay. I'm all in your hands," Harry grinned goofily in reply.

"Well, actually, you'll be in my _mouth_, but I can get my hands involved, too," Hermione purred in a sexy rasp. She felt Harry shudder under her palms.

Hermione pulled on the tassel at the back of Harry's robe and let it fall away. Her eyes popped wide at her first vision of him naked. She was going to take a moment to drink this in. It was just the most...it was...she gave up. Her stolen breath had taken away any words that might have described it adequately. He was quite as tight and toned as she remembered during his Quidditch days at Hogwarts. But, back then, she'd never been allowed to wallow in the beauty of his muscular legs, or his flat stomach. So she was in erotic heaven as she swooned at him now.

Then there was that _arse,_ firm as a peach. She couldn't resist squeezing it, and Harry tensed for her with a filthy little laugh. Now it was Hermione's turn to take a spin at trembling. She ran her hands slowly up his back, across the scar tissue of his old dragon wounds, and over his shoulders to the burn that the locket Horcrux had left on his chest. There were other wounds, too, ones he hadn't told her about yet. She traced her fingertips over them delicately. Harry flinched at her touch, but tried not to show that he did.

"It's all right," she whispered gently, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I wont hurt you. I'll _never_ hurt you. Your scars are my scars now."

Then she moved her eyes, and her hands, downwards. Over Harry's stomach, beneath his waistline. And she got her first look at his penis. And Hermione wondered wildly if it was her birthday. It might have been, it was around that time of year. And what a present _this_ was. He was large, long and wide. He was fully erect and the veins were popping out with the potency of his arousal. Harry gasped, as Hermione wrapped her fingers around his most tender body part for the first time.

It was just the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen or felt. She dropped to her knees...and it became the most beautiful thing she'd ever tasted, too.

She felt the silk of his glistening pre-cum coat her tonsils as she took him fully into her mouth, her lips cupping his shaft gently, as her tongue massaged his tip and dipped beneath his foreskin. Harry's breaths came in soft, rapid moans and he took handfuls of Hermione's hair in his fists. She was driven senselessly hot by the sounds he was making.

One of her own hands was between her legs already. The other, which had been alternating between rubbing Harry's balls and clenching at that ridiculously firm arse, joined it there. She dipped her index finger into the astonishing moistness of her own arousal, then returned it to Harry's arse, pressing it gently, cautiously, to his anus. He considered and assessed it in one moment, then allowed it the next, giving to it as his body relaxed. Hermione slid her finger in up to the second knuckle, and Harry moaned deeply in a rattling breath and writhed against her hand. She let him settle a minute, to adjust, then began to gently massage his prostate in a rhythmic motion.

Hermione had two fingers thrusting in and out of herself by now, while her thumb span in little circles around her clit. She slid her little finger down to her own arsehole and eased it in, groaning at the sudden increase in pressure and the burst of pleasure that accompanied it. She wasn't sure if she would be able to fit Harry's impressive cock in there later, for he was much bigger than the vibrator she normally used, but she was determined to try.

For she didn't want Harry to miss out on anything tonight, on any type of pleasure, or on any part of her own body.

Just then Harry began to tauten. His fisted grip in Hermione's hair became firmer and firmer, until he was pulling so hard it was flirting with painful. But she wouldn't dream of telling him to ease up. She tightened the pressure she was applying with her lips, moving him in and out of her mouth and increasing the speed of her finger pumping. She pulled him closer, encouraged him with more pressure and speed until he lost control.

Harry throbbed, heaved, and Hermione felt him shoot into her, hitting the back of her throat in warm, salty bursts. He must have been _full_. Obviously, Hermione reasoned, for he been unconscious for days and unable to relieve himself. The vision of him playing with himself, maybe while thinking of _her_, drove Hermione to hot senselessness. He would _so_ be doing that for her. The very idea was driving her mindlessly wild. She pumped her fingers harder into herself, clenched her eyes shut and came with a rattling orgasm so intense that it caused her to fall over and drag Harry down on top of her.

Neither had noticed that the air had become so dense and hot that the glass in the window had actually cracked and melted. Or that the runes in the walls were _genuinely_ smoking from it.

Hermione was dizzy from the intensity of her orgasm. She held her forehead a moment and tried to catch her breath. But Harry was recovering quickly, roused to primal form now. He scooped Hermione up and placed her gently on the bed. Then he drew his wand and flicked her dress off. She gasped as the sexual intensity of his magic touched her. It prickled over her hot skin and she quivered at it.

"What are you going to do to me?" she breathed lustily, revelling in the waves of sex magic pulsing from Harry's wand.

"Now it's _your_ turn," he said breathily, his eye sparkling with intensity.

Harry flicked his wand and Hermione's arms and legs snapped apart until she was star-fished. She giggled in excitement. It seemed to drive Harry mental. He licked his lips and pounced on her, his plan forgotten a moment. Their lips met and battled roughly, tongues duelling ferociously. Hermione started in shock - she'd forgotten to cast a cleaning charm on her mouth. She wondered what Harry thought about tasting the residue of his own semen.

If the passion of his tongue-thrusting kisses was anything to go by, he didn't seem to mind. If anything, it was stirring him to yet new heights of desire.

Harry pulled away from Hermione, and took up his wand again. He cast a silent spell, causing Hermione to rise a full foot into the air.

_Good Merlin, what's he going to do to me_? Hermione thought vapidly. _Anything and everything please._

Harry moved around her slowly, admiring her so intensely it felt, to Hermione, as if he were actually _absorbing_ the vision of her into his very being. She could see him thinking so many things, so many _wonderful_ things, about her as he looked. She was shy about accepting his pure adoration of her form. How could he think all that about _her_? It was just the most wonderful thing.

Then he pressed the cool tip of his wand to her skin, drawing tiny pictorial spells onto her belly, tickling her crazily. He eased some of his magic into them, and pushed them into her body, into her very ovaries. She had no choice but to cry out at the surge of pleasure they caused. It was breathtaking. Harry moved onto her breasts and did the same thing, causing her nipples to spring up and her boobs to swell as blood rushed into them. She thrust her chest out on reflex, begging Harry to give it his attention.

But he just smiled wickedly at her and kept up with his casting. He moved to her inner thighs, her arse, and finally onto her clit and labia. Hermione couldn't be sure, she'd have to do some research, but she was reasonably convinced that no woman, in the history of the human race, had ever been in the throes of such intense sexual pleasure as she was right now.

She was so mindless she didn't even know what planet she was on anymore.

And Harry wasn't even _touching her_. But she was insane as to what it would be like when he did. For he had turned his wand on himself now, drawing yet more runes onto his hands and fingers, his tongue, and eventually onto his cock. Hermione felt sure she was going to lose consciousness with the rabid anticipation, with the promise.

She _knew_ she'd pass out when Harry eventually got around to fucking her.

But, first off, he was just going to taste every single inch of her it seemed. He started at her neck, nibbling at her skin and driving her crazy, before sucking on her earlobes and flicking his tongue against that absurdly sensitive piece of flesh just behind it. Hermione blinked at the pleasure, she had to stay cogent for this. But it was a hard run thing.

Then Harry moved, finally, down to Hermione's chest, with a trail of hot little kisses across her collarbone. He licked up the _outside_ of her right breast, which was so sexily ticklish that Hermione almost came again just from the contact there. Then Harry just let his mouth hover over her erect nipple a moment, his hot breath driving her crazy. He flicked his eye to hers, moistened his tongue, gave her a dirty little wink and moved in slowly.

Harry _knew_ what was coming, what was about to happen. Hermione didn't. She was hopelessly unprepared.

For as soon as Harry's tongue touched her nipple, and the runic spells on each met, Hermione exploded in a screaming orgasm of such ferocious power that she caused the bookcase to completely disintegrate. Books cascaded to the floor, some flew out and smashed into the walls opposite, as intense magic and pleasure burst free from her in pulsating waves. It was so overwhelming, she had to wandlessly push Harry's head away from her a moment, just to strive for a few lungfuls of clean air.

Hermione snapped her head up to stare at him.

"Are you _f-fucking_ kidding me?" she panted out. "You could have warned me!"

"And missed _that_ look on your face!" Harry chortled. "You asked for a sex ritual, I'm only doing as I'm told. Which is what you wanted, from what I've heard."

"I did, I did," Hermione agreed, gulping hard. "This is all my fault."

"More?"

"Oh fucking _hell_ _yes_!"

Harry clamped his mouth down onto Hermione's other nipple, sucking it in hungrily and flicking it deftly with his tongue. There was a distant tinkle of breaking china in the breakfast room, as Hermione's pleasure spilled out of her again, and Harry looked mildly concerned. The wards and runes were clearly supposed to contain their passion for much longer than this. But it couldn't be helped.

They'd just have to face the consequences in the morning, and hope they had a palace_ left_ to call home.

Harry moved away from Hermione's breasts and resumed his hot kisses on a downward trajectory. He took his time, too, moving left and right and driving her to the edge of a mental breakdown. She writhed and arched and made such filthy keening sounds that she hadn't thought herself capable of before. The delicious frustration at being restrained and under Harry's mercy was turning her feral.

Hermione hadn't expected to find _this_ so hot. She felt racily naughty, like she was flirting with the forbidden.

And her language was appalling...the torrent of utter _filth_ coming out of her mouth, well...if the others could see and hear her now...she wouldn't be able to look any of them in the face ever again. White Queen indeed! She was actually terrified of what would happen when Harry eventually reached her clit and fanny.

It wasn't the expected loss of consciousness, that would definitely happen, especially as Harry's runic-enhanced fingertips had joined forces against Hermione's runic-spelled nipples, teasing and pinching with devastating effects to her psyche. As well as the general vicinity around her. The bed had shifted at least three feet from its usual position, due to the shaking vibrations she was causing. And she was still hovering a good foot _above_ it.

She was sure, that when Harry reached that moist spot between her legs, life would be lost somewhere in the palace. Maybe her own. But, she reasoned, there were worse ways to go...

And then Harry's tongue dipped inside her, flicked teasingly at her clit, before he enveloped her with his whole mouth and began sucking hard. It was like he was trying to _drink_ her. Little pinpricks of light popped before Hermione's eyes as the first pleasure waves crashed through her wracked skull. Harry was _ridiculously_ good at this. A natural at his first try.

_Luckiest witch indeed!_ Hermione thought.

Which was quite the miracle in itself, as thought was beyond any of her powers just now. She just floated there, in and out of her body at once, dizzy but content. She noticed that sound had left the room, and motion, too. That swirling magic, like a fierce breeze, seemed to have dissipated and Hermione wondered idly where it had gone, but she was too mindlessly content to really be bothered by it.

_"Rennervate!"_

Hermione blinked her eyes open. Harry was looming over her, looking fitfully concerned. She felt the cool of his sheets beneath her white-hot skin.

"Hermione...h-honey...a-are you okay?" Harry stammered. His voice was _tiny_.

Hermione blinked again. Sensation came rushing back. She throbbed and ached passionately between her legs, her heart was speeding at all her pulse points and she was wildly exhilarated...but Harry was dabbing a cold cloth to her sweaty forehead. And he looked so _worried_ for her.

"I'm so sorry," he was saying, in that frightfully agonised tone. "I _knew_ this was too much...I'm sorry...I just wanted...now it's all gone wrong..."

Harry was looking so fraught with guilt that Hermione's heart bled at his distress. Of all the things she knew about him, of all the darkness and pain she knew he carried inside, to think that he could be _loathing_ himself for going to such lengths for her pleasure...that he blamed himself for a _mistake_ on their wedding night...it was a thousand kinds of wrong in Hermione's world. She had to soothe his agitation fast, before it became another addition to his dark, mental plane. She had to pull him back...before she lost him to his misery. She reached up and cupped his head gently.

"Hey.._hey_," said Hermione softly, smoothing his cheek. "I'm all right."

"No, no, I'm so sorry...this was far too much...I was stupid...I just thought...I wanted..."

Harry looked pitiful, distraught beyond the telling of it.

"Hey, come _here_," Hermione whispered tenderly, in genuine, heartbreaking surprise at how badly Harry was being affected by this, her concerned tone gossamer-soft and lyrical. She pulled herself up, then drew Harry as tightly to her as she could, his head on her shoulder, and began threading her fingers rhythmically through his hair, soothing him as best she could. She gave him a moment, hugging him close, whispering soft words of reassurance into his ear. Harry relaxed into her embrace, his body sagging against her arms, and, for a minute, he seemed content to just let Hermione hold him.

However, once she was satisfied that the dark moment had passed, Hermione was stirred to playfulness again. "Now...don't you think you're getting away that easily," she purred flirtatiously into her ear. "I want you inside me. _Now_."

Harry pulled back, cautious and unsure.

"What? A-are...are you sure?"

"I said _now_, Harry," said Hermione, winking sexily.

Harry hesitated, so Hermione pulled him down to her, feeling his weight as he settled on top of her. She reached down for his cock, which had lost its potency in his worry. She teased it against her soaked entrance, pulling his mouth back to hers with her free hand. Harry simply moaned against her lips. She felt him re-harden in a moment and it was a startling sensation, to feel him grow against her fingers. It was a positive affirmation, too, for Hermione now knew she had the power to arouse Harry at will.

That wasn't a magic she'd _ever_ give up.

And then, with a slight readjustment of her hips, Hermione eased Harry into position...and guided him in.

If she could ever define _completion_ in her life, this moment would be it for Hermione Jane Potter. Harry fit inside her perfectly, filled her up, as if his shape had been designed with her in mind. She gasped at its symmetry. He touched her everywhere, on all her sides, and she was sent into wondrous raptures as she clenched around him.

Hermione chanced a look up at him, to gauge his reaction. Harry's eye was wide with innocent surprise, all of these sensations brand new things to him. Hermione just thought it the most insanely sweet thing, that _she_ was able to give him these first experiences with _her_...the only one he'd ever _wanted_ to share them with. She'd never felt so possessively covetous of anything in her whole life. Hermione smiled up at Harry, feeling so obscenely in love that it pulsed around her body as powerfully as any of her earth-shattering orgasms had.

But, it was high time she got back to those.

Hermione gave Harry a second to acclimatise, then encouraged him to move. He let her guide him, soon falling into a rhythm that suited them both. Hermione's mind disappeared into the stratosphere, swept away in the overpowering tempest of lust that now powered through her. She became a slave to sensation, narrowed her perception to just that space that she and Harry were occupying in the world. A space of ferocious, indefinable pleasure.

Hermione squeaked in surprise as Harry, emboldened by his performance, took control. He flipped her into different positions, moved around, experienced her in new ways as they explored their bodies together. All the while stirring that dirty, sex kitten side of Hermione he'd roused earlier. She invented new obscenities to scream to the heavens, to try and do it justice. But failed _spectacularly._ Harry plunged into depths Hermione never knew she had. But it was like he belonged there, was built purely to find these new spots on her, born only to bring these new desires to her surface.

Though Hermione was scorching hot and struggling to breathe with them a bit by this point. The air in the bedroom was ridiculously dry and dense and she needed something fresher. She could only imagine what was happening to the rest of the palace. Then, she got a slight clue, as she glanced over Harry's shoulder at the melted window, which was now just a blob of gooey glass oozing down the side of the house.

And Hermione was hit with an idea.

She flipped Harry over, straddled him, and he laughed in surprise. Hermione began to ride him expertly, rolling her lower back like a practiced lover, till she shuddered to another thundering orgasm and collapsed atop him. This was getting obscene. Hermione thought it should probably be _illegal_. Harry's magic, and the spells he'd cast on them both, had intensified the natural sensitivity of their bodies to such a fever pitch that he could make her come on command it seemed. A handful of thrusts and she was a mess again.

And she was _loving_ it.

But Hermione still needed to breathe, so she slowly eased Harry out of her. She felt him go with a profound sense of loss so fierce she yelped at it, as though stabbed by a _physical_ pain. She hopped up quickly, pulling him to the gap where the window had been. And she leant out into the cool, night air. It washed over her searing skin in beautiful, breezy little tickles. Hermione turned her head over her shoulder, flicked her hair down her back, and gave Harry a sultry, wanton look, beckoning him to her.

This time, he knew what to do.

Harry pressed close to her back, easing in gently as Hermione parted her legs for him. He groaned, she gasped, he pounded into her relentlessly, till she writhed and screamed lustily again, causing the bottom two floors of the palace to shake violently. Then Harry began to move again, slowly at first, reaching around to cup Hermione's breasts, pulling on her rock-hard nipples as he thrust deeper into her. Hermione threw her head up and arched her back. She came twice more before she could even count to ten. She amazed herself that she even remembered what numbers _were_ anymore, in this world of delirium. And she knew she was almost at breaking point.

But Hermione wasn't quite done.

She let the shuddering waves of her last orgasm dissipate through her a moment, then reached around again. She withdrew Harry slowly, rubbing his tip against her torrent of wetness, to slicken him as much as possible. Then she guided him gently upwards.

When Harry's purple hot bell-end touched her anus, Hermione had to bite her lip in astonishment. Her sensitivity there was _incredible_. The touch sent little electric pulses shooting all through her. Harry seemed to have frozen, unsure of himself again. But Hermione had just _had_ to feel his heat in her bum. So she worked him around in little circles, pushing with increasing firmness on each rotation, until finally she was stretched enough, and Harry slid through and entered her arse.

Hermione moaned with such throaty filth at the penetration that she could have sworn she heard a little nervous laugh escape from Harry. She pushed back, practically growling with each inch that she took into herself, until finally she felt his balls slap up against her open, throbbing cunt. For that's what it was called now. All its cutesy names had followed her head out of the window. She threw her head around like a feral cat, resumed her stream of gutter verbiage like a bout of sexual tourettes, and realised, with a stirring jolt, just how far down the ground was from the seventh floor.

And then, her fear of heights kicked in and she recoiled, pushing back harder onto the heat of Harry's cock.

This worked for Hermione. Harry still wasn't sure if he was supposed to pound the fuck out of her anally or not. She would have to educate him on just how much she _loved_ this. So he stayed relatively still in his uncertainty. In response, Hermione forced herself to look out the window, then baulk back in fear, then repeat the process over and over. So they fell into a sort of grunting rhythm. Hermione made a mental note of this for the future. The contrasting stimulations were sending her wild, Harry's moans had gone up a sexy octave, and the orgasm building in her loins promised to blow her head off her shoulders.

Whether it was the pressure, the tightness, the movement, the erotic naughtiness of fucking Hermione's arse or her guttural noises, maybe a combination of the lot, but it proved far too much stimulus for poor, inexperienced Harry. He felt the surge coming, tried to grip onto Hermione's waist to regain control, but he'd reached a natural finish point. It was how Hermione wanted it for him. So she thrust on him harder, reached back to grab his hips and encouraged Harry to let go and shoot into her.

She didn't expect him to roar like a _lion_ when he did it. Or that his sudden increase in size would send her so far over the edge that most of the power crystals in the room shattered, as she came like an out-of-control steam locomotive.

Harry hadn't transformed, which Hermione was pleased about, as that was just _too_ weird a concept, but Harry had channelled all his inner animal into her. It was a good job he was grabbing so tightly onto her hips, Hermione thought, as Harry's explosive orgasm might have sent her toppling through the window frame. He breathed hard, panting restlessly, before falling down on top of her, nibbling her ear from behind as he huffed lustily into it. That drove her senseless, too. They stayed like that, heaving lungfuls of air together, until Harry lost all his firmness and slipped easily out of Hermione's arse. She eased him back and led him to the bed, where they lay together in utter contentment.

"Well...that was...that was..." she panted out, shaking her head with dizzy astonishment.

"I have no frame of reference obviously," Harry breathed back, still gulping for air. "But that was the single most incredible experience of my life. You're _amazing_ at this!"

Hermione smiled deeply. That wasn't a compliment she'd been expecting. She had hoped that she and Harry would be sexually compatible - to compliment all the other ways in which they were so perfectly suited - but this flawlessness was beyond her wildest dreams. For _Harry_ to just come out and say it...it set her heart to dreamy flutters.

"No, actually, _we're_ amazing at this," she corrected him. "Doing it _together_. Harry - you've left me _utterly_ breathless!" Hermione reached over and brushed Harry's sweaty hair away back from his forehead. "Oh...and because I forgot to tell you when you said it earlier...I love you, too."

Harry laughed at her. "How can you even _remember_ that? I don't even know what fucking day it is right now!"

"It's the best day of my life," said Hermione lovingly, stroking his cheek, carefully avoiding his scar. "Thank you, Mister Potter."

"No, thank _you,_" said Harry. "_Missus Potter_."

Hermione swooned at the words and hugged Harry close a moment, before admiring her wedding ring again in the soft light still strobing from the runes in the walls. The ones which weren't just scorched, burnt out remnants anyway. She flicked her eyes up and met Harry's gaze, determined not to cry again. For she was desperately close. He looked the same. His adoring eye tinged with moisture. Hermione noticed, with a curious bolt, that the tear duct on Harry's shattered eye socket still worked. There was a single tear glistening there. That was bizarre.

"We'll give ourselves half an hour, sweetheart," said Hermione, steadying herself. "We'll summon Rhian for some water, and maybe some fruit and a bottle of wine or two. Then we'll be soppy and emotional for a bit, and get it out of our systems, okay?"

"And then what?" Harry asked mischievously.

Hermione's eyes flashed naughtily. "I cant tell you that. You kept that bloody rune spell thing from me, now it's my turn to surprise _you_. See if I cant blow your mind, too."

"Half an hour," Harry parroted. Then he looked around at the carnage they'd already wreaked in the bedroom, and sighed deeply. "You call Rhian...I'd better recharge these wards!"

* * *

"Do you think they'll ever stop?"

Enola asked the question and looked up, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. She watched Neville pulling on his underwear and lifting baby Ally from her cot for her feed. Enola was still trying to catch her breath. She didn't understand where Neville was getting this stamina from. She reasoned he must be trying to make amends for lost time.

Not that she was complaining. He'd screwed her senseless a couple of times yesterday in Harry's wonderful sex-charged room, and now he'd seen to her twice more, in the time since Harry and Hermione had sealed their marital chamber for their own long awaited sexual union.

It was a union that was fast becoming a marathon. For they'd been at it for fully seven hours now.

And it showed no signs of relenting. Neville had been going around putting out fires for _hours_. Literally. The air was positively equatorial in the palace and anything made of textile or wood was vulnerable to spontaneous combustion. Neither he nor Enola could come close to even _imagining_ what it must be like on the seventh floor. It might have burned to a crisp for all they knew. Neville had tried to get up there, but the air was so hot, so dense with sex, from the _fifth floor_ up, that he couldn't endure it.

But Neville didn't want to waste the perfectly good erection it gave him. So Enola was finding herself a _very_ lucky girl tonight.

"They'll have to give it a rest soon, surely," Neville pondered, proffering a bottle to Alison.

"I don't know," said Enola, thoughtfully. She was sat up in bed, involuntarily pinching her exposed nipples, driven by the sexually-charged air still soaking through the entire house. She didn't even notice she was doing it, until she caught Neville just gawking at her. But she had no intention of stopping. "Min has been waiting for Harry to take her to bed since she was, what? Thirteen? Fourteen? That's a _lot_ of sexual tension to work out. Oi...stop _staring_! Cheeky!"

Neville grinned at his wife's faux complaint. "Then stop doing it!"

"I _can't_," said Enola, smirking sexily, though her complaint was a little more sincere. "I'm just so turned on. I can't switch it off."

"You and everyone else around this place," said Neville bluntly. "There's so much sex in the air...it's like a bloody whore house out there."

Enola giggled. "Did you repower the wards?"

"Yep," Neville nodded, rocking Alison gently. "Didn't make an ounce of difference. Whatever Harry and Hermione are conjuring up there, my magic is decimated by it. I might as well have been using a rice paper shield against an incoming asteroid for all the good it did."

"Poor Min, she wont be able to_ walk_ by the time they do take a break," said Enola dreamily.

"If the intensity of the atmosphere out there is anything to go by, I don't think she'll mind that one jot," said Neville. "But I'll have to do something if they don't ease up. Give it another hour and even pieces of the _furniture_ will start fucking each other!"

"Is it that bad?"

"Well, put it this way," said Neville. "I went to put out a blaze on the fourth floor. It was near Susan Bones' room...and her door had been blown off its hinges...and, well, you'll never guess?"

"Her and Cassie?" Enola quirked with a grin.

"Oh. You know," said Neville, disappointed that his piece of hot gossip was ruined. "Anyway, Sue had Cassie's head smushed so hard between her legs it looked like she was giving birth to her! So I thought I'd better take Angharad her pain relief potions...as Cassie was _obviously_ busy. So I did, only to find that Ann was having a _different_ kind of pain relief, herself. Namely, that she was on all-fours and Myfanwy had lost her entire _fist_ inside her! Her whole _fist_, En! Up to her wrist! That must take some stretching."

Enola laughed. "So, you've had a few eyefuls then!"

"More than enough for one night, thanks," said Neville, huffing. "I've passed on fire marshal duties to Pat and my dad, while Owain is going around collecting all the tiles that keep flying off the roof. Sir David and Lord Kelvin are busy trying to repair the windows on the lower floors. Harry and Hermione just keep smashing them."

"Poor Min," Enola laughed. "She must be like a quivering jelly up there."

"The worst part is, Harry's been researching a whole load about sex magic," said Neville. "He can spell himself to stay hard without ejaculating, apparently. They could be at this until they physically exhaust themselves and just pass out. This could last _days."_

"Ah well, maybe we should just get some provisions in and bivouac down, ride it out," said Enola. "On the other hand, you _have_ given me nine or ten orgasms in the last few hours. We could just stay in bed and aim to make it a Baker's Dozen!"

"Well, let me just finish feeding our daughter her bottle," said Neville, his eyes flaming lustily. "Then you can give me a _teat_ to put in _my_ mouth, too."

Enola giggled naughtily, then burrowed down into her sheets to wait.

* * *

Harry woke gently and looked around. It was light, which meant he'd been making love to Hermione _all night_. Making love to _his wife_ all night. The thought sent his mind into a tailspin and, for a moment, he just stared up at his ceiling, fighting the urge to kick his legs up and down with the ecstasy of it. Harry noticed the plaster on the ceiling was cracked and blistering.

Like it had been exposed to some _serious_ heat.

He laughed quietly to himself at that. He didn't want to wake his wife, fast asleep next to him. _His wife. _Harry grinned widely and decided he wasn't going to use her name for a while. Just her new role title. It made him stupidly happy just to think it. He wasn't supposed to be this euphoric. It wasn't even contentment. It was bliss. Enraptured, exalted bliss. But he was Harry Potter. Dark, broody, tough saviour of the world.

Mindless joy wasn't supposed to be on the menu.

Harry slipped quietly from the bed and eased on his dressing gown. It was, remarkably, in one piece. It must have been one of the few items left in the room that could make such a claim. The place was a _state._ There was actual _debris_ littered around Harry's feet. He found the sight ridiculously funny. He bit down on the sleeve of the dressing gown to offset a fit of hysterics that threatened him, as he looked around at the charred walls, broken furniture, the aftermath of his sex-shattered domain.

Harry Potter had never seen a funnier sight in all his days.

He pulled the dressing gown around his shoulders, black and red, the Gryffindor badge emblazoned on the right breast. He didn't bother tying it, as the air was still stiflingly hot. He'd better open the window, in case his wife needed a bit of a breeze. It might blow the heady aroma of sex from her sticky skin. Oh..._oh yeah_. There was no _window!_ Harry just stared at the vacant square in the wall, remembered what he'd been doing there a few hours before...

And Harry smacked his lips at the luscious memory. He turned to look at his partner in that sexy crime, spread-eagled on his tangled sheets, naked as the day she was born. She was so beautiful. This was _definitely_ Harry's favourite outfit for her. He wondered vaguely how often she would wear it for him.

_Every day...for the rest of my life...as long as she doesn't mind._

The truth of the thought careened into him, and he was back to grinning like a dopey teenager again. Harry picked up one of the wine bottles Rhian had brought them last night and slurped down its remnants. It may have been a bit early to start drinking, but Harry was parched and in a celebratory mood. Then he spotted the _other _bottle, wedged firmly between the splintered remains of his bedside table. He remembered, with a flashed memory of learning the lubrication charm, some of the _other_ uses he and the wife had found for _that_ particular item. Who knew she'd turn out to be so kinky?

Or that _he_ would be, either!

They'd decided it was just another element of their perfection, the compliment to each other. They would have no boundaries, no limits. Nothing was off the table. If it might give them pleasure, it was worth a couple of tries. That meant boundless possibilities and Harry was pointedly keen to begin that voyage of exploration.

But, not all aspects of the world had changed overnight. It was still full of darkness and fucktards and people who needed, quite simply, to be destroyed. Today, they were all going to get a free pass, a day off. Harry was going to enjoy the day after his wedding like a normal man would. It would be a bit backwards, with a feast and a party and excessive alcohol consumption a day _after_ the wedding itself, but, as Harry reasoned, his life had never been straightforward, so why would be expect his wedding day to be any different.

Then, after that, he was going to go full tilt at his enemies. They had been allowed to regroup and re-strategise long enough. He wondered what they thought he was doing, being so idle as he was. He assumed, by now, that Riddle would know about Hermione. Her awesome display at the ICW had been a thing of beauty, but Harry knew the spies and traitors among their ranks would have sent word to that snake-blowing cunt as soon as they could.

Harry didn't really care. He wanted the world to know Hermione was his anyway. If only so, when the time came, their enemies would know _exactly_ what they were being butchered for. Harry had returned to this mortal plane to marry and protect Hermione. He hadn't had a fucking clue how it was going to happen, but thank the Gods it somehow _had_. She was his wife, his soul mate, he would burn to ashes the world that threatened her.

There was also this exciting little detail of her wanting a baby with him as soon as possible.

If there was anything worth destroying and rebuilding a world for, it was _that _wonderful prospect. A _baby..._with _Hermione_! Harry grinned at his wife's alluring naked form and wondered just when she'd bring up _this_ nugget of information with him.

She'd prefer a girl. Even if she'd debated it with herself, Harry had felt the truth with undoubted force. He was slightly concerned that his wife might want to steal little Celesca Lovegood, and he was genuinely considering putting an elfish security detail on Luna - lest she come to meet her end by some unfortunate _accident_ \- but he was also tempered by the fact that Hermione had come around to the idea of babies so swiftly.

For being in Hermione's mind had been an illuminating, if at times horrific, experience for Harry. He would have to get into mediation within the next forty-eight hours and siphon off some of the worse things he'd seen. The fresh, pulsing euphoria of his marriage was only masking the abject horror of some of the memories he'd witnessed, of Ron's abuses to his beautiful girl. Scenes that Harry was now trying desperately hard not to dwell on.

They'd already decimated so much of the palace with their relentless love-making, Harry's angry rage was more than capable of taking care of the rest.

So he forced the memories aside and made his way through to his alchemy cell. He smirked at the ashen remains of the bookcase-door, the singed pages of books which once adorned its shelves. Harry chuckled to himself. Hermione would be so horrified to learn she had damaged _books!_ He rather hoped she wouldn't mind _too_ much in this case. It had been worth it.

He cast a look back at her, drank in the vision of her naked body.

_I smashed that_, he thought proudly, nodding to himself. He tapped his flaccid cock to acknowledge a job well done, then began drawing a bath into the large copper tub.

Harry turned back to his dresser and frowned. Not having a door on the room made this a risk, and he couldn't be bothered going back for his wand to cast a concealment spell. But this was something he didn't want Hermione to know about. It wasn't a _secret_, he wasn't keeping things from his new wife, but this was a shame he wasn't ready to share with her just yet.

Harry huffed out a breath, he would just have to chance it. He opened his potion drawer and took out the six vials he needed. Two of them were a sort of bubble bath, brewed from phoenix tears. Harry added them to the splashing water, watching critically as his bath turned a pale sort of yellow hue. It was the colour of urine, hardly alluring. But his deeply wounded bones would be thankful of the healing properties later.

One potion was for pain-relief in his scar. He found a pippet and began pinging droplets of it over his face and into his hollow eye-socket. The rest he sprinkled onto one of his shawls, that he luckily found in a drawer. The droplets on his skin burned and seared like icy acid and Harry lashed around, biting down hard on his tongue to keep in a hissing cry.

He drew blood he was so intent on staying quiet.

He turned and picked up the scarf, stared hard at it, took three swift breaths for courage, and quickly wrapped his face. He was hit with, and fought to absorb, another fresh wave of agony on the contact, and lurched back against the dresser, swearing lowly under his breath through gritted teeth. He turned his knuckles white, such was his death grip on the dresser's washbasin, as he tried to offset the excruciating torment that was his _treatment_. But soon, his face was numbed and he sucked in a rattling breath, then looked quickly over at his slumbering wife.

She was still sleeping. She hadn't seen a thing.

Three potions remained. Two helped his mental controls, calming and clarifying his mind. He felt pretty clear today, in all honesty, but he didn't want to take the risk. This was a day he just _had_ to be alert for. He knocked them back. They tasted like cherry this time. She was a good girl was Cassie, she was always making little additions like this for him.

The last potion was to clean his blood. The dark poison oozing around in the scar on his face was infectious, it had to be controlled. Well, as much as that potent a level of Dark Magic _could_ be. The stench from his scar right now was vile. Genuinely, gut-churningly offensive. It lingered in Harry's throat and he dry retched at it. It can't have been cleaned for days, he reasoned.

There would be consequences with that. Harry glanced over at the calendar on his wall. Well, he called it a calender, but maybe _countdown_ would be more accurate. It was nearly time to have himself checked again. Might as well get Narcissa to do it while she was here.

She could tell him how far the infection had spread now.

But Harry didn't want to think about at the moment. He turned back to his bath, which was nearly full...and winced as something stabbed into the underside of his toe. He reached down and picked it up. Or, rather, picked _them_ up. And scowled viciously.

The two halves of Hermione's old wedding ring, left exactly where they'd fallen from her finger.

Harry could sense the slime of the Weasley signature in his very hand. He closed his eye and drew their magic towards himself. It made him feel more nauseated than the fetid stink of his rotting facial flesh. This had been a family heirloom. Nothing much, just a piece of random tin that Arthur's grandmother had once owned. It had no value. Ron wouldn't have parted with anything significant to bind his marriage to Hermione. But this was Weasley enough. It allowed Hermione to be controlled by him, tracked by him, spelled from afar. By _any_ of them. The link was strong enough for that.

And, as Harry stunningly realised through his quick meditative assessment, it was still strong enough to allow _him_ to get to _them_.

Harry clenched his fist around it hard, in something bordering jubilated triumph. Hermione made an odd sort of snort from the bedroom, but she was just shifting in her sleep. She turned onto her side, so her bare arse and the sexy curve of her back were now pointing at Harry. He grinned wickedly. Now he could have a nice little perv on her from his bath. He slipped the two ring halves into a side drawer, pricked his finger with one of his alchemy tools and sealed the drawer with a blood spell. Now only he would be able to open it. He nodded in satisfaction, angled himself to best ogle his gorgeous wife, then slid into the warm bath with a deep, contented sigh.

* * *

Hermione blinked her eyes open and stretched her body out. It was indecent to feel this relaxed, she decided that in seconds. But this new decadence was the _definitely_ way to go for her. It was the future. She immediately felt a stabbing sense of cold though, as she thought, for a second, that she was alone. Harry wasn't by her side.

But he was close. She could _feel_ him, like he was a gorgeous new limb she'd just grown.

"There she is, my beautiful bride. Hey wife."

Harry's voice was like honey to her, an elixir to that fleeting worry. Hermione looked up and found him, sitting on the window ledge, his dressing gown...his _open_ dressing down...fluttering against a light breeze. She swooned at his part-exposed torso a moment, her mind wandering with her darting eyes. Harry was lounging against the remnants of the window frame, eating a slice of watermelon. He looked so peacefully content that Hermione's heart actually throbbed with joy as she looked at him.

Then she frowned. "What's with the scarf?"

"Er...I'm an ugly cunt without it?" Harry offered.

"Harry," said Hermione crossly. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't wear it anymore."

"When? I agreed to no such thing," Harry protested playfully. "I _did_ say I'd take it off to kiss you senseless, but that was it. And, as much as I'd love to be, I cant be kissing you senseless _all_ of the time."

"I don't see why _not," _Hermione grinned, stretching again. "Sounds like a fine way to live."

"It would be," Harry agreed, then he smirked at her. "But, the point was, you said I agreed never to wear my shawls again. Which I didn't."

"Why don't we call it an unspoken covenant, between a wife and her husband," said Hermione patiently. "Take it off."

"No."

"Take it off so I can see your face."

"_No._"

"Harry." said Hermione sternly. "Take it off, let me see your face, then come here and give me a kiss."

"Hey...that's just cheating," Harry protested weakly. "That's bribery."

"No, I prefer to think of it as _blackmail_," Hermione quirked smoothly. "Because _I_ wont give _you_ a kiss if you don't do as you're told!"

"Then we'll both miss out on kisses," said Harry dramatically.

"Harry..."

"_Hermione_," Harry aped, sighing. "Look, I was out of it for days. My scar hasn't been treated in that time and I have cleansing spells on my shawl. It fucking stinks when it gets to this state. Trust me, honey, it's better this way. You'll just have to accept that there will be times when I have to wear my wrappings. So, why don't you scoot that sexy arse of yours over here to _me_, enjoy the view from the window and help me eat some of this buffet the elves have made for us."

"You know I don't like heights, Harry."

"You didn't seem to mind last night..."

Hermione blushed scarlet. "There were a _lot_ of things I didn't mind last night, I'll have you know. But your sassy mouth _wasn't_ one of them! Now come _here_!"

Harry sighed, accepted defeat, and conceded to Hermione. He looked over at her cute, bossy expression. He couldn't win. She was _too _adorable_. _Despite being pretty much his own personal dictator. Harry was completely under her sway, and he could never deny her anything that it was within his power to provide. Hermione exerted total dominance over him, and he gave to her whims happily, like she was some sort of tyrannic puppy that it was his honour to pet.

Hermione grinned and lorded her victory, as Harry crossed to the bed and stretched himself out languidly next to her.

"That was pathetic, sweetheart!" said Hermione, giggling. "I told Luna that I'd eventually get you to do whatever I asked, but I expected you to put up a bit more of a fight than _that_!"

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? You're _naked_. I'm powerless against that inducement."

"That's good to know," said Hermione, turning and snuggling next to him for a moment. Then she sat back and eyed him playfully. "Well, chop chop. If you've gone to all this trouble to bring me breakfast in bed, you might as well pour me a cup of tea!"

Harry guffawed and set to work, busying himself at the large trolley full of fruit and pastries and drinks that the house elves had placed next to the bed. "Well, I can't really call it _breakfast_ in bed, seeing as it's about two or three in the afternoon. But, here's your tea."

"Oh dear, is it really that late?" asked Hermione, blowing the liquid to cool it. "You should have woken me sooner."

"Like fuck I should have," Harry countered, laying back down at Hermione's side. "Watching you sleep is just the most beautiful thing. I find it very therapeutic. I'm looking forward to doing it a lot more."

Hermione blushed. "That's a little creepy, but okay," she teased. "So, what have you been doing all morning?"

Hermione looked over as Harry shifted suspiciously. "Nothing much."

"Harry?"

"Okay, you broke me," said Harry in mock indignation. "I've been assessing the damage we did to the house, if you must know."

"How bad is it?" Hermione smirked.

"Well, most of the crockery and furniture on this floor has been _totally _annihilated," Harry began, with a thoughtful grin, propping himself up on his elbow. "And we burst all of the plumbing in the bathroom, so the entire floor was flooded. But there's good and bad with that."

"Good _and_ bad?"

"Well, we caused flash fires on the sixth floor, which combined into _something_ of a localised inferno, but the flood waters from seven seeped through the ceiling and put most of it out, so I'm seeing that as a total win. We won't be able to use the sixth floor for at least a month, though. We were experimenting with some potion-based weaponry down there and that's all gone up in flames...leaving the air unbreathable. I wouldn't advise going onto that floor...unless you want to have your insides melted or your bodily organs explode in sequence."

"Oh, sweet Merlin!"

"But, the most important thing I was doing was checking that we've still got somewhere we can hold the party."

"What party?"

"Your _birthday_ party, of course," said Harry. "It's not every day my wife turns twenty-four."

Hermione gasped aloud. "Is it really today?"

"Yep," Harry grinned. He drew his wand and summoned his calender, which hung in the air before them a moment. Today's date shone before them, highlighted in emerald green. "September the nineteenth, see? Hmmm, it's on a Saturday this year. We should see if there's a musical on in the West End or something...I know a guy, he'll do us a good deal on tickets..."

"Harry."

"Look, I'm just trying to play normal," said Harry with warm sincerity. "I fucking hate that I've left the world so fucked up for you for so long. Next year, for your twenty-fifth, we'll do something really special. I promise."

"Promise?" asked Hermione, her accent loaded with meaning.

They looked at each other, fierce, blazing intensity in both their gazes. And they silently agreed. This time next year, this would all be over, the darkness would have passed. The private oath settled between them like a spell.

"Promise," said Harry calmly.

"Well, I certainly picked a good time to get married to you, didn't I?" Hermione grinned. "So...have you got me a present?"

Harry chortled at her. "Of course. Rhian!"

"You can't give me _Rhian_," Hermione teased. "That contravenes elven fealty laws. Besides, she's already mine!"

"Be quiet, you," Harry returned, scrunching his eyebrows at her.

Rhian popped next to the bed. She smiled warmly at the newly-weds. "Hellos Master Potter...and _Mistress _Potter. Yous might want to put yous boobies away, Mistress!"

Hermione squealed and pulled the bedsheet over herself, as Harry howled with laughter next to her and slapped the mattress in his mirth. Hermione glowered at him till he stopped.

"Rhian, could you please fetch that package I left in your care, the one for Lady Potter's birthday."

"Ooh, ooh, yes Master Harry," said Rhian excitedly. She popped away and back again in a matter of minutes. She handed a thin package to Harry. "Happy birthday, Mistress Hermione Potter. We's save yous other prezzies till yous party later. Mistress...Rhian have a question."

"Fire away," said Hermione.

"Does Mistress mind if elves calls her Mistress _Hermione?_ Only Master Harry lets us use his first name and elves like to use yous first name, too. But we calls you Mistress Potter if yous prefer."

Hermione blushed. For some reason, this question of formal propriety set her heart to wild flutters again. It made her feel more like Harry's _real_ wife than ever.

"Actually, Rhian, I'd _really_ like you all to call me Mistress Hermione," she replied with a warm smile. "I'm your Mistress now...but I'd like to be your friend, too."

Rhian clapped her hands and gasped. "That be _exactly_ what Master Harry say when we ask him years ago! Master Harry...yous done very well on picking a wife."

"I know I have, Rhian, thank you." Harry smiled at Hermione and winked. "But, if you could give us some privacy...I have to give my wife her birthday present."

"Very good, Master Harry. Rhian get back to helping with the party."

And with that she popped away.

"What have you gotten me then, Harry?" Hermione grinned, clapping her hands excitedly.

"Now, I could be all modest and say it isn't much," said Harry, smirking. "But that would just be a downright lie. So, here. Happy birthday, Hermione."

Hermione took the long, thin box from him. She had a wild notion that it might be a new wand. It looked the right shape. But it wasn't. She opened it up to reveal a slender, golden key. Rubies were set into the hilt and it was rather heavy.

"Harry - as you left this under the magical care of a _house-elf -_ I'm guessing this key opens a lock that contains something either very expensive or very dangerous," said Hermione. "And you shouldn't have gotten me either!"

Harry laughed. "That key opens the door to a hidden chamber, on the third floor, _beneath_ this palace. Whether that's dangerous or not...only time will tell."

"_Third_?" Hermione queried. "I thought there were only two? Your Ritual Room, Resonator Stone and things like that are on sub-level one, the catacombs, cellars and crypt are on two. What's on three?"

"The Merlinic Line...or _Potter_ family vaults," said Harry simply. "Or, if you prefer, _our_ family vaults."

Hermione gasped. First off, she definitely _did_ prefer. And second, "What's kept in our vaults?"

"Pretty much everything you'll ever need to know about our family," said Harry. "Its history and family tree, our unique magic and how to use it, family jewellery and heirlooms, stuff about our connections to the Order of Merlin and the Knights of St David...oh, and our family _fortune_."

Hermione's eyes bulged involuntarily. She felt instantly ashamed. She'd never been a slave to money. She didn't intend to start now. But still..._fortune?_

"I removed all of my wealth from Gringotts as soon as I could," Harry went on. "You don't need me to tell _you_ how badly the bank was pilfered and extorted, as a 'reward' for Riddle and his fucking clan when they took over."

"No," said Hermione angrily. "I know that's _precisely_ how Ron suddenly became part of the super-rich."

"Do you? Do you know _precisely_?" asked Harry quietly, delicately.

Hermione swallowed hard. The truth was, she _didn't._ Ron had been rewarded handsomely by Riddle, but she'd never quite known for what. But, judging by the look in Harry's eye, he _did_ know. And it wouldn't be a pleasant story to tell.

"I don't want to know, do I? I'm not going to like it. I can tell."

"He turned Minerva McGonagall over to the Death Eaters," said Harry bitterly. He had to stand and pace to offset his bubbling rage. "She was sheltering at The Burrow. My Knights and the Order had helped set up a Ratway - an underground network to shuttle magicals out of Britain, once the European Council of Magic closed the borders to the continent. The Burrow was used as a safehouse in the early days, a stop off point if you like. Magicals would go there, get new identities, and then be taken to a point where they could safely cross into Europe, or board Muggle ships to the Americas.

"But, after Bill and Arthur fled, taking the Ratway themselves, Ron and Ginny starting using it for a slightly _different_ purpose."

"Which was?" Hermione fumed, fighting her own rage at just this introduction to the story.

Harry punched the windowsill as he tried to master the frightful anger this memory stirred. Hermione felt it prickle over her skin in dark waves and she was desperate to go to him, to soothe him. But she felt she should wait.

"Ron and Ginny kept the Ratway going," Harry ground out acidically. "They kept our underground communication channels open, and frightened, desperate magicals kept coming to them for help. All the ones being hunted, persecuted by Riddle and his followers. Ron and Ginny they...they told them..."

Angry magic burst free from Harry and cracked the wall in front of him. Hermione dug her fists into the bedsheets to stop herself from jumping up to go to him.

"They told them," Harry breathed in deeply, fruitlessly trying to steady himself. "To bring all their gold, all their possessions, everything of value. They said they would store it, then send it on later. They said that it was getting too dangerous to carry very much along the Ratway. Fear does the most terrible things to people, Hermione. The magicals were so desperate to escape, most forgot they could probably transfigure everything they owned and put into a box no bigger than that one on your lap.

"They did what Ron and Ginny told them. The Weasleys fed the escapees all sorts of sob stories about themselves - how they were helpless slaves, too, to justify their own treacherousness. The same ones Ron had you believing for a while. Ginny Weasley is the most accomplished liar I've ever met. The role was perfect for her.

"So, frightened magicals would come along, hand over all their earthly possessions to the Weasleys, in return for being smuggled along the Ratway to a new, safe life abroad. Husbands protecting their wives...parents doing _anything,_ sacrificing _everything_ to save their terrified children...It's what _had_ happened...they _trusted_ the Weasleys...they trusted _me_ and the escape route _I'd_ set up for them... But Ron and Ginny they...they..."

Harry's breaths were coming in shallow troughs now. Hermione's restlessness was making her frantic.

"Ron and Ginny would take the magicals along the Ratway, promising them freedom," Harry went on. Hermione didn't know how he was still able to talk. She could feel the hate pounding through his words, pouring out of his mouth like acid. "But, in fact, they were simply delivering them to Death Eater kill squads. They didn't even do the dirty work themselves. Then they'd just return to The Burrow and divide up the spoils between them. I...I've heard stories...stories that they even pulled gold _teeth_ implants from the corpses of Muggleborns and their families...to melt down and sell."

Hermione cried out in abject horror. Tears flowed freely and she gave in to her imperative need to soothe her husband. She leapt up and drew him to her. Harry's anger flowed out in surging waves, but Hermione's concerned need to comfort him seemed to create a barrier that stopped it escaping. It was confined to the space of their embrace and Hermione could absorb it, use it to fuel her own determination to calm her husband.

But, in the intensity of the situation, neither really noticed that this was happening.

"They lured Minerva to the Burrow, for one last hurrah," Harry spat. "Ron was about to become the poster child for Riddle's insane magical purification regime, Ginny on the verge of spawning her first abominable child with him. Once they were exposed, the Ratway would cease to serve them.

"I never knew quite how Minerva had died...until...until we saw it in that decoy Horcrux. I didn't know Riddle had actually gone to the Burrow himself, to do it _personally_. Fuck _me, _Hermione...I've let _so_ many people down..."

Hermione was wild with her concern for Harry. She clutched his head to her shoulder with everything she had. She knew what he was thinking. He _blamed himself_ for all of this. He'd set up this escape route...created hope for those who needed it most...only to have it so disgustingly perverted by the Weasleys. At the cost of Minerva McGonagall's life into the bargain. Hermione was frenetic in her need to reassure him, but she knew this wasn't the time. While the perpetrators were still at large, he would have no closure.

Ron...Ginny...Dolohov...the list of people Hermione was going to slaughter with abominable violence was forming clearly in her mind.

She couldn't soothe Harry of this, but maybe distraction would be the next best thing.

"Hey, are you all right?" she asked gently, cupping his good cheek. He sighed deeply, and nodded. "So tell me how _you_ were involved in this _Ratway_ thing...how did you manage to _help_ so many people when you were still in hiding? Even _you're_ not that good!"

It was a shot at positive reinforcement. Turn it around, lighten the mood. It seemed to work, as Harry grinned weakly and his shoulders relaxed a little.

"I feel I can trust you with any secret, so here's my first one," he began slowly. "The wizard Merlin, my ancestor, was born in a coastal cave near the town of Carmarthen in eastern Wales. It left an imprint on the atmosphere in that area. The magic created by his birth is so ridiculously intense that no other magic can infiltrate the space there. When the ECM erected the wards around Britain, they had no choice but to leave a gap open in that spot. That was where the Ratway finished in Britain, a little doorway to freedom, at a cove in East Wales."

"Wow, Harry," said Hermione. "That's a hell of a secret to hold!"

"Which is why the ECM needed one hell of a Secret Keeper to protect it," said Harry.

Hermione fixed him with a curious stare for all of three seconds. Then she gasped aloud again. "_You?!"_

Harry nodded. "I erected a secondary ward on _our_ side of the ECM's one, near the cove where the cave can be found. When a magical made it there to escape, I could turn up under my dad's old cloak, open the ward in secret and let them through. I was part of the team that erected the wards _outside_ as well, so their signature is practically identical. Anyone trying to curse-break the wards would have no idea that I was part of it, unless they dug _really_ deep into the ward near Merlin's Cave."

"So _that's_ why you can move through the wards!" Hermione exclaimed. "You have a pass through them, as you _created_ them! It's nothing to do with special crossing points at all! That's just a ruse...even from Neville?"

Harry marvelled at her. "You really are singularly brilliant! Why the hell have you married me? I'm such a downgrade for you."

Hermione smiled. "Shut up, Harry. I love you. That's why I married you. Your beautiful cock is also a bonus. Just saying."

Harry grinned at her. "Thanks. I kept it just for you."

"And I'll be _forever_ grateful," Hermione blushed. "But, why tell Nev about the fake crossings at all? I don't understand."

Harry sighed. There was deep guilt embedded in it. "I had to assume Neville would be captured at some point," he said lowly. "He's good, but few are good enough against the enemies out there. Especially alone. If Nev got captured, he wouldn't endure a proper interrogation for long. Not if someone like Malfoy had gotten hold of him, or that bitch Lestrange. His mental defences are pretty flimsy."

Hermione looked over at him suspiciously. "What did you do, Harry?"

He retuned her stare dolefully. "You wont ever hate me, will you?"

"Of course not."

"Good. This is will probably be as close as you come, though."

Harry heaved a weighty breath and leant on the windowsill. Hermione returned to her place on the bed. She had a feeling she ought to be sat down for this.

"I took Neville into ritual...hit him with a Celtic runic spell straight from the Potter dialect archives," Harry began. "It was a spell so powerful that it makes the Imperious Curse look like a gentle suggestion charm. I implanted the idea in his mind that there were weak crossing points to the international wards. Implanted it so deeply, so _perfectly,_ that it would seem like a legitimate piece of his own world knowledge, just as if he'd read it in a textbook."

"Okay." said Hermione. She assessed it in a breath, and accepted it in the next. "That's a violation, but I'm assuming you had good reason?"

Harry nodded. "The location I told him is actually where the ward is the _strongest_. French wizards are employed full time on the other side, to reinforce them _daily_. Good work on subduing them, by the way. They are generally quite accomplished wizards.

"But anyway," Harry continued, trying vainly to ignore Hermione's confused expression. His veiled compliment had sailed completely over her head. "I implanted the idea, made him forget all about the ritual with a few memory charms and went from there. I knew, if he was captured, the Death Eaters or Section Seven would extract that information easily. But, no matter how deep they drilled into his mind, to try and see if it was an attempt at deception, they would see it as the truth.

"And they'd believe it because _I_ told him it. I crossed at that location _purposely_...so he'd _see_ me crossing it. The Death Eaters would extract those memories, show them to Riddle, who in turn would make them forget the part about _me._ Or just kill them. Which is no loss to anyone. Then he'd direct his curse-breakers to those points."

"Utterly wasting their time," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Or otherwise distracting them from whatever else _you_ might be up to."

Harry nodded. "That was the idea."

Then Hermione gasped. "But, Harry...that would mean that Riddle knows you're _still alive!_ That he's _always_ known!_"_

Harry just sighed at her. "I've always assumed that, Hermione. In private, anyway. He isn't stupid. We are linked by prophecy, that's_ extremely _potent energy. I can _feel_ him alive. It's like a dull ache that never goes away. It goes kind of haywire when I'm near one his Horcruxes, but then drops to background noise all other times. I can only assume he has the same sense of _me_."

"But then...why not hunt you? Declare open war against you?"

"What? And tell the world I've survived his most powerful curse _twice?_ Admit that he can't kill me? Come on, Hermione, you're cleverer than that."

Hermione huffed. She wanted to be cross, but Harry meant that complimentarily, Hermione was sensible of that. "I get it. He puts out all this propaganda about his majesty...but your survival defies all that. I see."

"And gives something for resistance to rally around," said Harry. "Old Tom can't allow that."

"So, he kills his some of own most _fanatical_ supporters, his Death Eaters, just because they've learned that you are still alive, and he can't risk that information getting out to the general public?"

"Exactly," said Harry. "Except for his closest people. The Lestranges, Dolohovs, _Weasleys._ Ginny's his favourite concubine...well, as close as he _has_ to a favourite. Tom Riddle doesn't really like _anyone_, including himself. I mean, how _can_ he? He ripped his own _soul_ into seven cunting pieces, for fucks sake. But that other lot are the ones he tasks with fighting this private war against me, my Knights and my Order."

"And now, against your _wife_," said Hermione staunchly. She sat up and took a deep breath, which was lucky, as Harry's fiercely adoring look threatened to take all the air in her lungs. She shivered at being so worshipped. "So, going back to Neville...like with your mum and dad, you took a situation you _knew_ was likely to happen, and manipulated it to your advantage?"

Harry nodded again. "That was where I got the idea from. I wasn't powerful enough, or well-equipped enough, to go straight after Riddle. You've seen an inkling of my fractured mental state...it was a hundred times worse when this all started. I was in no shape for anything, really.

"But I couldn't _stand_ to be idle. And Nev, well, he got the taste for resistance fighting battling the Carrows at Hogwarts. He's badass, I don't know if you've noticed. There was no way, once we'd reunited, that he'd leave my side or duck out of a fight. And he had the advantage of not being very well known. He could go places I couldn't, set up things for us...while I darted around the world getting myself tooled up to lead this war.

"We both knew the risks...he took them willingly."

"So, _has_ Neville been captured?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry sighed deeply. Then nodded again. "A few times."

Hermione gasped in shock, then narrowed her eyes at him. "But he was let go?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "The Death Eaters have tried to use him to find this place, to find me. They've hit him with tracking charms and sent him on his way, hoping he'll lead them here. They've infected him with diseases, hoping he'll return home and spread them to everyone. They even gave him a suitcase nuke once. Imperius Cursed him, made him think he was a Muggle returning from a business trip. I was actually quite impressed with that one."

"But you foiled them?"

"Of course," said Harry blithely. "Fan and Ann were always his handlers, screened him every time. Nothing gets past _those_ witches. And we recruited Ernie MacMillan and others. They gave us a heads up whenever Neville fell into unfriendly hands, delivered him to us if they could. Poor Nev, he became an unwitting pawn in an unspoken duel between me and the Death Eaters."

Hermione pierced Harry with a penetrating stare. "He doesn't know, does he? Doesn't know he's been captured...any of it?"

Harry shook his head.

"Does Enola?"

Harry nodded. "She's the one who took the memories from him. She keeps them in her own special mind plane for safe keeping. The guilt...it eats at her, you know. It eats at me, too. Neville's loss..."

"What did he lose?"

"They castrated him the last time," said Harry bitterly.

His anger flared violently, shattering the teapot on the trolley. Hermione cleaned the spilling liquid with a flick of her wand.

"They pulled his memories," said Harry angrily. "It wasn't that long ago, actually. The last conversation he had, before he left on that mission, was with Ennie. They were discussing how they'd like to give Alison a brother or a sister as soon as they could. They both want a really big brood, you see. And Nev was _so_ excited when he learned that they shared that wish...he was practically _floating_ when he told me about it...

"The Death Eaters used it against him...as they tortured him. Sliced off his penis with Dark Magic. Denied him his greatest desire...because he refused to give me up."

A single tear spilled from Harry's good eye socket. Hermione knew there would be another from the ruined side, but Harry's shawl would absorb it. She wished her own streaming eyes could have the same.

"They sent me his severed cock in a little box...along with his family tattoo...where they'd flayed the skin off from his wrist. Ennie pulled his memory of it when Angharad brought Neville home, so we knew what had happened. Ann's always been close to him, she wasn't going to leave him to his fate. She went after him alone.

"The Death Eaters had decided they were done with Neville after that last time. He was my brother, through and through. They had no chance of turning him. They chose to string him up from a gallows they'd erected in Godric's Hollow...from the very monument to my own _demise. _Poetic in a way, it would have been quite the message...

"Angharad brutally butchered all six of them that she found there, and hung what remained of their bodies in Neville's place...rigging them to explode with Fiendfyre if anyone tried to take them down.

"But Enola...she...she went wild. She completely lost her mind when Ann brought Nev's broken body home. I had to spell Alison's room so Enola wouldn't hurt her. She was delirious, she started hallucinating. She thought her own daughter was one of Riddle's minions sent to spy on her. I had to erect a special ward on the nursery, that increased in power the more violent Enola became. She became so mindlessly enraged that, in the end, I even had to channel my own power from the Resonator Stone, just to reinforce the ward enough to keep her out...and then sit in the nursery myself, to protect Alison in person... "

Hermione gasped and clutched at her racing heart. But Harry wasn't done.

"You have to know...Enola is a trained, rabid killer. A Hit Witch of the highest power grade. But she cant control her rage when she loses it. She hurt Fan and Ann so many times by accident, when she was part of a triumvirate with them, that in the end the Order banned her from any sort of combat work. She's better than both the other girls, but she's too high risk.

"After she was kicked out, she was so ashamed of herself she just focused on her mind magic, developing a whole range of control spells and charms, so she could stop indiscriminately killing people who crossed our Order. Narcissa had to subdue her so many times that eventually we were reduced to implanting a notion in Enola's mind to be rather terrified of Cissa whenever they are together. She agreed to it as a control measure. It's one of the few things that keeps her calm."

"And that's how she developed her mind planes," Hermione whispered. "And...she did the same for you...after your..._resurrection_?"

Harry nodded. "She understands...she knows what it's like to not have full control of your mind and rage...how terrifying it can be. Especially when your magic is so intense it can lash out and hurt the ones around you. Interestingly, it was because of Neville that we learned the _only_ way to really subdue Ennie, to control her intense rage, is through _love_."

"How?"

"She fell for Neville instantly, I mean, pretty much from the first time they met," said Harry fondly. "It was love at first sight for her. It was disgustingly sick. She became like a soppy little puppy around him. I teased her chronically about it at first. I liked her feistiness, maybe because I was the only one powerful enough to control her at her worst, and I sort of missed it when she became all _girly_. But Nev made her calm, normal. So I had to get them together for both their benefits. As soon as I convinced Neville about her interest, and that I wasn't taking the piss - I mean Ennie is stunning -"

"She is," Hermione agreed. "I'd do her."

Harry laughed nervously. He wasn't sure how to take that. Hermione kept her expression delightfully neutral.

"Yeah. Well." Harry stumbled on his words. "I got them together, and Ennie didn't have another outbreak of fury again. She even closed down almost all of her mind planes."

"But you said she went crazy...when Nev got..."

Hermione made a callous, scissor-cutting action with her fingers that no woman should ever make to a man, especially not to her husband, when his penis is part of the conversation.

"Yeah," Harry winced. "But I also told you that love is the most terrifying force in existence. Enola is deeply in love with Neville. It breaks through even her most stringent control measures. If you genuinely hurt Neville, Enola will hurt you back ten fold."

"_I_ hexed Neville, said Hermione, thoughtfully. "I broke his arm. When you were having one of _your_ meltdowns. Ennie didn't hurt _me_ back."

Harry looked at her with great patience. "Honey...she _couldn't_ hurt you_..._you are _much_ more powerful than Enola. Your innate defences deflected whatever she tried. Merlin, love...you're probably more powerful than _me_."

Hermione looked at him, astonished. He meant every syllable.

"Dont be dumb," she breathed eventually. "I can't do half the stuff you can do. You realise that your magic literally takes my breath away these days, don't you?"

"And long may it continue," Harry grinned. "But I've had years of training and instruction. I've used my Time-Turner so much I'm surprised my pubes aren't grey! Once you've had a comparable level of experience and exposure, you'll be the dominant force in this family."

Hermione scoffed, before saying, almost pityingly, "Sweetie, I'm _already_ the dominant force in _this_ family! But you did start telling me all about that, about our wealth and things."

"I actually think I tangented off at you ex-husbands' ill-gotten gains," said Harry evenly. "I quite like saying that..._ex-husband_."

Hermione frowned angrily. "If you ever put me in a sentence with _Ron_, or _Weasley, _and_ husband_ again, I'm going to castrate _you!"_

"That's an empty threat," said Harry off handedly. "You said you love my cock."

"True, I did," Hermione quipped. "But you showed last night that you're also an expert with your tongue and fingers. I can cope with the loss."

"What about children?"

"We'll adopt."

"I'm not bumping off Luna so you can have little Cesc," said Harry warningly.

"You were more fun before we were married," Hermione complained bitingly. "I don't know where the magic went..."

Harry shook his head at her. "So...fortunes."

"The ginger wanker turned in McGonagall, you said?" said Hermione waspishly. "She was my favourite teacher. I'm going to scalp him in her name, make a tartan beret out of it, to honour her memory. How did that make him rich though?"

"Riddle rewarded the traitorous fuckbunny by bequeathing him McGonagall's large family estate in Ayr, Scotland," said Harry. "Her brother, who was the Lord of that vast sway of land, was chased out of the country. Luckily, he fled right to _me_."

"Lord _Angus Kelvin!"_ Hermione exclaimed. "McGonagall's brother?"

"Yep," said Harry, helping himself to a banana from the trolley of food. "Minerva married, obviously, and took her husband's surname, but the Kelvin's were a powerful family. Rich, too. Ron was given all their wealth, lands, assets. Became an aristocrat overnight."

"So _that's_ why Malfoy and the Death Eaters kept calling him _Lord Weasley_?!" cried Hermione. "I did wonder."

"I understand they called him a lot of _other_ names in private," said Harry. "Respect cant be bought, especially if you are still as big a prick and as mediocre a wizard as he is."

"I don't want to talk about him anymore, he's a cunt," said Hermione waving her hand impatiently. "Don't mention him again, unless it's when you are delivering him to me to cut into little bits."

"Deal," Harry grinned.

"So, _our_ fortune," Hermione queried. "You were saying."

"What about it?" Harry teased evasively.

"Are you going to tell me how much it is? Or do I have to guess?"

"Guessing might be a laugh, but I doubt you'd ever get it right," said Harry, popping a bit of banana into his mouth.

"How much is it, Harry?" Hermione asked patiently, taking a sip of cool tea.

Harry tapped his chin dramatically as he swallowed his fruit. "Well, you should know, that I took my parent's inheritance, which was quite substantial, and invested it in businesses overseas. Not all at once, mind you - stock brokers are dodgy bastards in _any _world - but, once they started paying off, I invested more. Our annual dividends are _very_ pretty at this point."

"Harry...don't make me hex this out of you!"

"Okay, keep your knickers on...oh, wait," Harry smirked and nodded down at Hermione's still nude form. She blushed under his wanton gaze. "Well, at last count, we were a few Sickles shy of half a _billion_ Galleons downstairs."

And Hermione promptly spat out her tea in a comical spray.

"And," Harry went on, calmly ignoring her spluttering display. "If you include my...I mean, _our_...assets and property and stock portfolio, both here and abroad, you can scale that number up by...oooh, I don't know...a factor of, say..._seven?"_

Harry cocked his head and pretended to guess a number he knew all too well. At his declaration, Hermione toppled sideways off the bed, where she hit the floor with a dull thud. Her tea cup smashed as she fell, blending seamlessly with the rest of the sex debris still scattered around the carpet. Harry hooted with laughter and hurried to help her up. She looked liked she'd been hit by half a billion Stunning spells. Harry just grinned at her.

"Congratulations, Mrs Potter, you have just become the wealthiest witch in Europe, and one of the richest five in the whole _world_."

"Oh my...Merlin help me!" Hermione breathed. She sat down in a daze. "Harry...that...that...money...think of all the thingswe could do with that! The things...oh my..."

"I was thinking of using it to bribe Death Eaters and traitors, to get them to switch sides," said Harry, thoughtfully. "But then I decided I'd just rather just line them all up and slaughter the fucking lot of them."

"You are _not_ giving our money away to Death Eaters, don't you even bloody _think_ it!" said Hermione dangerously. "I meant, think of all the _good_ we could do with it. We could set up charities and orphanages, centres for all the battered witch-wives out there. There's plenty of _those. _We can help people who...who don't have much..."

Hermione's thoughts flew to Luna, and the help she could give her now. Maybe she could _buy_ Celesca from her...maybe a short-term loan. She'd pay a handsome rent...by the hour, annual rate, whatever worked...she was _loaded_ now, after all...she was sure they could work out some sort of time-share deal for her favourite little Seer...

_Shut up, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. _Keep your head on!_

"I'm happy for you to indulge yourself," said Harry, blissfully unaware of Hermione's minor flight of insanity. He sat next to her on the bed. "The vault has a magical ledger which records all incomings and outgoings, but it's _your_ fortune now. I'm happy for you to spend it as you like. Within reason, of course."

"What's within reason?"

"No presents for other men you might want to shag," said Harry. "Or prostitutes. I warn you, I'm liable to become _rabidly_ possessive where you're concerned. I don't want to share you. That's pretty much it, though."

"Okay. No presents for sexy wizards," Hermione swore faithfully. Then she cocked a vampish eyebrow at Harry."What about sexy _witches?"_

Hermione watched Harry shiver pleasantly a moment, as the thought flicked across his brain.

"Would you let me draw the memory...so I could watch?"

Now Hermione took a turn at shivering. "Of course...we could watch it together."

"We'll take it on a case-by-case basis," said Harry decisively. Hermione watched him shift, to ease his obvious erection into a more comfortable position. She found it hard to take her eyes off it, once it had popped out of his dressing gown to say hello to her.

"Meaning?" she said, her eyes still angled downwards.

"_Meaning,"_ said Harry. "That I'd have to be certain you wouldn't develop any _emotional_ attachment. As much as the idea of you fucking Enola is pretty much the hottest thing this side of the Sun's corona, you like her too much. And I'd be stuck with Neville. And, just to be _very_ clear, neither of us are shagging other any men in this marriage."

"Why would I want to shag other men?" Hermione quipped. "I love _you_. And only you. Besides...have you _seen_ your own cock? It's borderline divine, love."

"Excuse me, but you just threatened to cut it off!"

"Empty threats, sweetie," said Hermione airily. "I wouldn't cut off your cock for all the money in our vault. Wow. And that's a _lot_ of coin. Merlin, I'm such a whore. Who knew?"

"Yeah, but you're _my_ whore," said Harry chortling. "There's value in that."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "Excuse me, but you are _not_ that special."

"Who told you that? I've not heard that," said Harry, mock affronted. "All my evidence points to the contrary."

"Yeah, and it's all from _me_," Hermione winked. "I suppose being your whore wouldn't be _so_ bad...I did decide to be your _wife_ after all. There's not much difference."

"No, you proved that last night," said Harry grinning. "There was some serious filth going on there. I...I didn't think you'd be into some of...well...some of those _things_."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You mean the anal stuff, don't you?"

"I'm not one of your books, stop reading me so easily," Harry laughed. "But yeah...that was...fucking _hot, _to tell the truth."

"Did you expect me to be some sort of prude?" Hermione asked sharply.

"No," Harry flashed back quickly. "I just meant that I know how well and truly you've been fucked over. I didn't think you'd develop any kind of...well..._fetish..._not with what you've had to endure._"_

Hermione laughed. But Harry's serious look quelled her and she took his hands in her own. "Anal isn't really a _fetish_. It's more common than you think. Especially round here. Ennie is fucking _addicted_ to it."

Harry quirked his eyebrows. "She is?"

"Yep," Hermione nodded. "She told me. We bonded over our shared love of it. Exchanged notes and things. She and Nev got heavily into it during the latter stages of her pregnancy. He was terrified of hurting the baby, you see, so he wanted to stop having sex altogether until after she was born. But Ennie was _super_ horny over the last trimester. Anal sex was the answer. Now she says she can hardly ever orgasm during intercourse if she doesn't have something up her arse at the same time."

"Wow. Okay. That's probably more than I needed to know."

"But...Harry, about that," said Hermione, ploughing right passed Harry's blatant awkwardness as if it hadn't happened. "Ennie told me...she and Nev had sex yesterday...twice...before the wedding. How...if his cock was -"

"If you make that action again, I'm going to Stun you," said Harry, warningly pointing a finger at her. He meant it too.

"Okay. Sorry," Hermione offered sheepishly. "But...how?"

Harry's eyes lit up suddenly. "Did they do it in here?"

"I...I don't know," said Hermione. "Maybe. Everyone was coming in here to get off once rumour got round. I had to get Rhian to fumigate the place before the wedding ceremony. It _stunk_ of sex in here."

Harry fell back laughing. It took a full minute for him to regain composure. Hermione just loved the sound of him laughing. It was, perhaps, the thing that made her the happiest in the world. She wasn't even kidding about that.

"Merlin knows what it must be like _now,"_ Harry managed to say, wiping tears from his cheeks, and clutching his chest. "But, anyway, Neville. You see, here's the thing. We were able to reattach his cock, but it had been sliced off with Dark Magic. It didn't work as it should have when we got in back on.

"Ennie was gutted, obviously, but she held out hope. She thought that something had just happened to kill his libido. I think she even convinced _herself_ that was what had happened, in the end, to cope with everything. Eventually, we decided to make _him_ think that, too...it was easier than the truth...for them _both._

"You don't know what it was like when Enola calmed...and remembered what she tried to do to Ally. I had to perform a very intimate mind ritual with her so she could get through the first few days without self-harming. The ritual took twenty hours...required my Welsh Celtic magic, the most ancient form I know...and I had to steal the memory from her...and make the ritual so powerful that everyone else would think _I_ did that...that the ward on Ally's room was to stop _me."_

"Oh, _Harry,"_ Hermione moaned. "I remember now! Neville told me that...said that Ally was the most protected person in the palace."

"That part, at least, is true," said Harry, but his tone was laced with darkness. "You see, when her mind is intact, threats to Alison _dwarf_ Ennie's response to threats against Nev. A mothers' love, Min, its power is something else, I should know...sorry, I promised I'd never call you that..."

"It's all right, I don't mind it," Hermione smiled. "You were saying...about Ally?"

"Yeah. Right," said Harry. "When I went mental, after Nev told me Ron was regularly hurting you...I-I totally lost control. I lost my mind wholly. I only remember what happened because Narcissa reconnected my memory of it. I _had_ to know...know what my _worst_ looked like, so that I might learn how to control it. Or, at least, recognise the signs, so I could take myself away from anyone I might hurt.

"Anyway," Harry ploughed on, ignoring Hermione's expression of soul-deep shock. "Nev had no chance of reining me in that night. I had lost it completely. I was beyond stopping by any idea of control or pacification."

"Yeah, you brought a whole _tower_ down on yourself, you silly boy!" Hermione teased, but Harry's expression stayed dark. This wasn't a time for lightness. "Sorry."

"It's all right," said Harry. "Well, its not, really. But anyway, Nev didn't know what to do. I don't blame him, I was wild. And when I get like that, I'm like a natural disaster. Easier to just get out of my path. But Enola came to me, to see if she could help. And I...I..."

Harry looked away, tears were threatening his cheeks again suddenly.

"You...what?"

"I told her to...I said...I told her to...to _kill_ me," Harry breathed through stuttering words. "I'd done _so_ much damage, to so many things...to so many _people_...I needed Ennie to take me down before...before I hurt anyone else...she was the only one who _might_ have been able to..."

Hermione threw her hands up to her mouth, a sharp ache stabbing at her heart. Her poor Harry! How much horror had he been through?"

"And?" Hermione whispered.

"She tried," said Harry. "She threw her best spells at me, but my natural defensive magic deflected them. It was a hell of a fight. The result was that we broke the tower in two. The roof crushed my legs and I passed out from the pain, but not before I had a moment of clarity..and _forced_ an Apparition on Enola wandlessly..to get her out of there. I didn't know I'd already undermined the tower's foundations, or maybe my wandless burst finished the job. The rest came down on top of me, but the roof shelf ended up saving my life."

Hermione was weeping freely again. Harry was looking everywhere but at her.

"After that, I knew she was capable of it," said Harry. "Of taking the toughest decisions. She just needed motivation. When Ally came along, I knew she was _it. _So, every time I got really mad...and the more I learned about Ron's abuses of you, the more frequent that sort of stuff got...we got into the habit of sending me right to Ally.

"And Enola would defend her...violently. She was able to repel me, and I developed a sort of _conditioning_ to it, I suppose. I always calmed around the baby, almost instantly. This just became a total neutraliser once we conducted a ritual to make me her godfather. I don't know why. I love the girl fiercely...she's the closest thing I have to kryptonite. No matter how enraged I get, put me in the same room as Alison Longbottom and I become as docile as a yoghurt."

Hermione laughed and dried her tears. Though she wasn't sure the seriousness had passed yet.

"Ennie's reactions were _stunning,"_ Harry continued fondly._ "_She's smashed me out of windows, down the main staircase, developed the only Stunner powerful enough to slow me down. Slow me, mind you, not stop. But it's _usually_ enough to make me regain my mind sufficiently to calm down."

"Usually?" Hermione queried. Then she huffed. "Don't tell me...the night when Malfoy came to get me."

Harry nodded briefly. "_Nothing_ could have stopped me that night. You could have lined up Riddle, that Dumbledore Zombie, Merlin himself...I was an out of control, indestructible juggernaut. Ennie took Alison away, somewhere far from me. Then, instead of acting like a pussy and trying to stop me, like everyone else was, she summoned Lily..._commanded_ her to take me to you...and Lily obeyed. It's the _only_ time Lily has ever gone to or obeyed anyone but me. And it's all because it was for _you._

"What I'm trying to say, in case I'm not getting this message across clearly enough...is that you are _everything_ to me...you are my entire world and everything in it. Please...if you understand _nothing_ else ever about me, please understand _this."_

Hermione understood. Oh how she understood! The words were throbbing through her with such undeniable truth and the power of Harry's love for her was so absurdly intense it was in danger of making her explode. She was sobbing and she didn't even know why. She was the safest, most protected, most loved witch, woman, female of any species, in the entire history of the whole fucking world.

Being the _luckiest_ witch didn't even scratch the surface of what being Harry Potter's wife and soul mate truly meant.

She would determinedly make sure everyone knew that. Once she was done kissing him to within an inch of his life. And fucking his brains out. For it had been a few hours since she'd done that.

So her birthday party could wait a little longer. She had to unwrap her _best_ present first anyway...

* * *

An hour or so later, as they lay together, arms and legs hopelessly entangled, shivering deliciously, sweaty and spent on the bedroom floor - for they had shattered the bed into twelve separate pieces, and set fire to seven of them - Hermione turned her head to Harry.

"You never finished telling me how Neville managed to shag Ennie with a broken willy," she whispered curiously, her voice still fluttering with her afterglow.

"Always the great academic, aren't you?" Harry quirked fondly. Hermione smiled back shyly. Harry backed up against the nearest wall and drew Hermione to his chest, where she snuggled down cosily. "Well, this is one of my better pieces of magic, actually. And, between you and me, that's saying something."

"What did you do?"

"Bit of an experiment, really," said Harry, propping his head up on his elbow. "I was hoping it would work, so that I could tell Ennie about it. Wouldn't do for me to tell Neville I was thinking about his cock while casting spells!"

Hermione laughed heartily and clung to Harry.

"What was the spell?"

"Well, _you _gave me the idea, actually," said Harry. "When you said about positive magic having an equally powerful, but opposite, effect to negative magic."

Hermione blushed crazily. That Harry thought her words as worth memorizing as one of her beloved books...Hermione literally had no idea how to respond to that.

"Anyway, I wanted to blow your mind on our wedding night," Harry went on.

"_Tick!"_ Hermione laughed, making the action with her hand.

Harry laughed back. "I realised the key to it was _staying hard_."

"Ah, I see where you're going," Hermione nodded. "So you reasoned that if you could design a spell to keep an erection for _me_, it might be adaptable for Neville, too."

Harry looked at her reverently. "You _seriously_ need to stop doing that. It's getting frightening."

"Doing what?"

"_Reading_ me like that," said Harry softly. "I mean...so _precisely. _It's not even a guess. You're _exactly_ right...and you're doing it all the time lately."

"I've noticed that," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's to do with our marriage. Or from when you were in my head. I do seem to know what's on your mind most of the time. I like it. Most of it is pure fucking filth, to be honest, but it's no worse than what _I'm_ thinking about _you_, so it's all good_._ But it also means you can't lie to me. And I like that, too."

"I'd never lie to you," Harry protested.

"Now I know _that's_ a lie," said Hermione.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You said you wouldn't fuck Enola. There isn't anyone _alive_ who wouldn't fuck her. I know that because I've seen her naked. Hell, even dead people would come back to life for a chance of _that!"_

Harry eased her head up and looked at her solemnly. He fixed her with his eye as honestly as he could. "I wouldn't fuck Enola. The only witch I get hard for is _you_. If you can read me...read _that._"

Hermione gasped, actually and out loud. She felt Harry's truth as if it were her own. He truly _meant_ that...how could he _mean_ that? For _her?_ She looked at him in wonder, her mouth just flapping open and closed of its own accord.

"I...Harry, I..." she tried to say. But there were no words yet invented that were good enough.

So she just kissed him deeply instead.

Hermione just wanted to look at Harry, to adore him _adoring_ her. But she was still curious.

"But...hold on...you didn't cast the spell on Nev, so how did he get an erection again?"

Harry laughed at her persistence. "I created it as a healing spell of a sort," he explained. "I charged it with the most powerful intent of recovery I could manage. For me, it was to recover enough to make love to you again. For Nev, if its worked, the purity of my intent - as it was designed for _your_ benefit and not mine - has repaired the damage the Dark castration did to him. I etched it into one of the walls, as I didn't think it would be practical to keep casting spells on my cock in the middle of our passion!"

Hermione giggled. "No, perhaps not, but it does explain your _stamina_. You did recover very quickly each time, to commit yet more amazing transgressions against my body. But...Harry...how far can we take this?"

"Well..." said Harry, sitting up enthusiastically. Then he started to babble _very_ quickly. "I was thinking...we could get some sex toys and store them in a drawer for you, and maybe do some role-play - Princess Leia in the gold bikini? I'm seeing that - or some light bondage...I quite liked having you restrained and at my mercy..."

"I...er...meant the Light healing magic," said Hermione awkwardly, before seeing Harry's face drop and adding quickly, "but all that other stuff? _Definitely._ As long as we can get you in a white sailor suit. I've always been hot for them. Oh...and you _have_ to do me in your Quidditch robe...that was perhaps my _top_, number one fantasy as a girl...the number of times I _wanked_ over that at Hogwarts...Merlin only knows!"

"I'll have to get into ritual and ask him!" Harry teased. "We are related, after all."

Hermione blushed. "Please, don't. Let's just keep the sex stuff private between us, okay?"

"Okay," said Harry, squeezing her hand. "But you're going to tell Enola everything, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," said Hermione giggling. "She's my best friend. All besties share secrets..._especially_ the naughtiest ones!"

"Oh good Lord!" Harry sighed. "Like your love of anal...you never explained..."

Harry looked terribly worried all of a sudden, as if he wished he hadn't said anything. Hermione's heart thundered against her chest again. She just _had_ to stop him looking like this. Seriously, she was literally going to kick the universe right in the face when she met it. Anything that could make her love look so_ broken_ deserved to be given just the most serious walloping possible.

"First of all," said Hermione, pulling herself up to face Harry in a cross-legged position to match his own, taking his hands firmly in hers. "I don't enjoy anal because it's the only way Ron fucked me that I actually _liked_. Or anything like that. I really _can_ see what you're thinking, you know. And that is _totally_ not it. In fact, its probably the complete opposite.

"This is going to hurt you, and I'm sorry, but I have to say it to make my point. Ron raped me. A lot. He _forced_ me to have sex with him, both through _actual_ force and the fear of what would happen to me if I didn't do it without protest. And I _hated_ it. Every _single_ time..."

Hermione had to stop, because Harry was crying violently and parts of the ceiling were falling in. She pressed her hand to his chest, then drew his head to her shoulder. She let him rile for her, whispering to him softly, until he mastered himself and stilled. Despite it all, Hermione thrilled at herself. She recalled Harry's story earlier...and she was awestruck. _She_ had calmed him. And, besides a little cosmetic structural damage, she had done it fairly easily.

That was no mean feat.

"I'm okay. Go on," said Harry, sitting back up.

"Anyway, in all those times, it was always pretty standard," Hermione continued. "All the sexual abuse was _vaginal._ He never once went near my arse. I don't know why, I always expected him to. It seemed an obvious way to hurt me. But, because he _didn't_, it sort of became my own personal thing, a tiny rebellion if you like. To prove I could still _enjoy_ sex, like a woman is supposed to, despite what was happening to me.

"I was _always_ pretty sensitive back there. I remember at Hogwarts once, the first time I tried it, I blew my own mind. The other girls used to nick my hair brushes and potions, you see. Hide them everywhere. They thought it was a great laugh, having me go out looking an oversized piece of road kill everyday. Anyway, one day, I was just _desperate _to get my hair sorted and I...oh..._oh_..."

Hermione's eyes had gone wide in startled surprise.

"What?" asked Harry, who was torn between anger and guilty arousal. He wasn't sure if he was _allowed_ to be turned on by the idea of his wife getting herself off as a teenager, even if he had been there at the time.

"It's just, well... it's just that," Hermione started, blushed crazily. "I was trying to sort out my hair because...it was the day I was going to meet _you._ On that Valentine's Day...when I asked you to leave Cho and come and see_ me_. I really wanted to look as pretty as I could for you. Thinking maybe you'd notice me outside of our normal school environment. I'd even shrunk my jumper for you...I had started to fill out a bit, you see...I didn't even bother with a bra that day...winter, cold weather, you know what happens...and I _so_ would have let you stare..."

"Min...this is too hot, and I'm not sure it's allowed to be," Harry moaned. "But I'm _aching_ again."

Hermione smiled vampishly, her eyes flicking south. "Don't fret, honey...we can sort _that_ out a bit later. Anyway, when I was looking for my hair stuff I went through Lavender Brown's knicker drawer and let's just say I made a _discovery_. She had a _load_ of sex toys...as well as some properly sexy underwear. No wonder she got laid all over Gryffindor Tower..."

"Hermione..."

"Sorry. Well, one of her dildos had two parts - a shaft on top and a set of beads underneath. I was _fascinated_ by that and, you know me, ever the great academian..."

"You _wanked_ with _Lavender's_ dildo?" Harry breathed, trying not to drool. "Before you came to meet me?"

"Eww, no, Harry! That's minging!" Hermione cried. She eyed him crossly. "Merlin knows where _she'd_ been. I didn't want that anywhere near my parts. No, I'm a clever witch. So I swiped a couple of pestles from the potions stores, sterilised them with magic and transfigured them into my own version of the dildo. Then...viola!..._mind blown!"_

Hermione said the last bit in a sing-song voice much unlike her own. Harry, for his part, had lost all notion of coherent thought or speech.

"Fuck dot me dot I love you Hermione - one word - forward slash fuck me dot com!" Harry garbled.

Hermione laughed out loud. "You should really underscore '_I love you Hermione'_...search engines will find it easier!"

"Is there a point to this story, or do you just want me to ejaculate all over you?" Harry moaned hopelessly.

"Well, _that's_ one we haven't tried," Hermione winked. "But no, I did have a point. The point being that, from that moment on, I was always keen to have my arse played with. It was always on my own, obviously, but when Ron started raping me -"

"- please...stop saying that," Harry pleaded.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, squeezing Harry's hand. "Okay...when I had to fulfil my _contractual_ _bedding_ _duties_ with Ron, he always left my arse alone. But I was still sensitive there, and learned I could still enjoy sex on my own...and I felt like I was defying him when I did.

"My clit and my fanny sort of...went _numb_...in the face of his abuses, as though they were reacting to his torture. They stopped reacting to _me. _I didn't feel anything at all when he entered me, apart from revulsion, and not just because his dick was so small. But, when I could get myself off by sticking two fingers up my bum, it was like I was sticking two fingers up at _him."_

Hermione watched Harry wage war with himself. Fuming, irrepressible rage on one side faced off against profound sympathy on the other...and a sort of self-reproachful arousal was acting as referee. She just wanted to hug the struggle out of him, make him _see_ she was all right now. His concern for her literally took her breath away...but it took her heart, too.

"But...you said...your other bits...your _front bum_ bits," Harry began.

"Harry...we're not twelve!" Hermione castigated.

"Okay," said Harry grinning innocently. "Your clit and cunt? Better? Good. Well...you said...said they _went numb_..."

Ah, now Hermione could see. She'd forgotten to put on her _What's-Harry-Concerned-About-Me-This-Time-For_ glasses. She thought she might as well never take them off at this rate. The answer to his woes always seemed to come from that source. So she scooted close, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly. He shuddered pleasantly under her attentions.

"Did you _see_ me last night?" she whispered. "Did I look like a girl with any sensitivity problems?"

"You could have been faking," Harry offered reasonably, adding, when Hermione scowled at him, "For _me, _I mean. For my benefit. I know you wanted it to be good for me...to make it look like I was doing okay on my first time. So that _I'd_ be happy. And girls can pretend like that..."

She loved this boy. There was just no greater truth on the planet. But she was going to have her work cut out undoing all the damage that had been done to his mind.

"Harry...honey...I was _not_ faking!" Hermione purred. "We _melted_ a fucking window, destroyed most of this floor...it's going take over a month to repair the damage we've done to the rest of the house! And that's assuming we can keep our hands off each other during that time. Which, I don't know about you, is numbers one, two and three on my list of _Impossible Things That Just Aren't Going To Happen Ever."_

Harry laughed and rested his forehead against Hermione's. "Okay."

"My lady parts switched off, kept me sane by being numb," said Hermione. "But you...you've turned them back on...turned _me _back on. Harry...you've restored my very _womanhood_."

Harry had no words. What was any man supposed to say to a declaration like that?

_"_I know you have concerns, I know you have worries," said Hermione. "But seriously, you have to believe that _I'm_ all right. I'm better than all right, actually. I'm bloody fantastic, if you must know. You've taken all my darknesses, all my pains, and delivered me to light and love. You've made me your _wife._ My name is Hermione Jane Potter...but I'm commonly known to others as _The Luckiest Witch Alive._"

"You'll always be _Master Harry's Favouritest Witch_ to me," Harry grinned.

"That works, too," Hermione smiled back. "So long as I stay in that role, and stay with you, I don't mind. And I'm _happy._ The happiest I've ever been in my whole life. And that's all down to _you._"

But Hermione had to stop talking after that and just hold Harry close, soothe him with that rhythmic thread of her fingers through his hair that always seemed to work. He was tough, he was stronger than anyone Hermione knew, he carried horrendous darkness inside. But he also had a terrible weakness. For he was easily reduced to crippling tears. It was the simplest thing, too.

All it took was Hermione, his wife, telling him how happy he made her.


	15. Quintessence

Harry reached across Hermione, met her eyes over the rim of her teacup, exchanged a sweet, loving look, and took and another slice of toast from the rack, which he then proceeded to butter carefully. Well, to call it a tea _cup_ would be something of an inaccuracy, when in fact it was actually one of baby Alison's beakers Hermione was drinking from.

It was what they were _all_ drinking from. One cup at a time.

It was all they had _left._ A fact only further emphasised by Sally, who was walking around the breakfast parlour, scooping up fragments of china that had been missed on the earlier sweep-up attempt. The first tackling of this mammoth task, that was dealing with the absolute carnage that Harry and Hermione's wedding night love-making had wrought on the palace.

It was all Harry could do not to piss himself laughing. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. So he tried he best to pout and frown as always, but inside he was being tickled to death. And it didn't help that Hermione, sat so invasively close on his left hand side, was in exactly the same state. She was locked in a death struggle with a fit of giggles herself. Harry could _feel_ them inside her, as potently as if they were actually in his _own_ chest. Which only made his chaffing mirth ten times worse.

So Hermione sat in silence, burying her giggling lips in as much tea as she could stand, while Harry fought hard to pretend that everything was just the same as it always had been. It was a game everyone else was playing, and Harry was just in that sort of mood to join in.

But it was so _fucking_ hard!

For a start, some of the house-elves were nosily erecting a scaffold along one wall of the Breakfast Parlour, to begin replacing the missing parts of the ceiling, which had been swept into a neat little mountain nearby. They were whistling a cheery little tune, and clanking merrily away, as they attached struts and rivets and brackets to the steel frame. There were torturous screeches as wooden beams were slid roughly into place, and every now and then a playful elf would push another from the scaffold, and belly laugh as his victim bounced away off the carpet like a rubber ball.

And the assorted witches and wizards at the large breakfast table ignored all of it, as if it wasn't happening at all.

Then there were the witches and wizards themselves. Harry was sat opposite Susan Bones, who was toussled and sleep-mussed and kept flashing little glances at Cassie, sat at the other end of the table. Both pointedly avoided looking at Neville, who was sat with Enola on Hermione's other side. Enola, herself, had been fucked to pieces. That was obvious from her dreamy expression. Plus the fact that she had actually been _limping_ when she and Neville entered the Breakfast Parlour that morning.

Harry hadn't seen her like that since the day after her wedding.

And he was thrilled for her. Harry knew how deep her love for Neville went. He'd felt it in ritual with her. But it was matched in intensity by her _physical _attraction to him. And Enola Longbottom was nothing if not a physically passionate girl. And it had been months since Neville had been able to be intimate with her. The loss was causing her borderline depression, and Harry hated seeing it, and being unable to help.

But now, it seemed, he _had_. And Enola looked bright and alive for the change. Harry knew Neville would eventually ask the awkward questions, look for answers and a repeat prescription to his previous dysfunction. Harry would have to chat with Enola, devise a strategy. He could always point to the runes, say it was Potter family magic. A secret he could only share with Hermione, the only other properly recognised member of the family. He could say his Dad had struggled with the same thing.

Only later, when Harry was actually planning to _see_ his father, that would be an awkward lie to explain away.

But that would be an afternoon delight. And Harry was reasonably certain _that_ conversation was going to irritate the fuck out of him. So, for now, he just wanted to have fun playing this little game at breakfast.

And the _best _player in it had now decided to deal herself in.

"It was a shame we couldn't have a big party for your birthday, Lady Hermione," said little Celesca ruefully, picking at a plate of scrambled eggs she was sharing with Luna. "I was so looking forward to it. But everyone else had little parties of their own instead. Though Mummy was _very_ unfair to me, I think. She wouldn't let me go to any of those, either. And everyone seemed to be having _so_ much fun. They were doing funny dances and banging around and making _a lot_ of noise and things like that. But I just had to sit with Mummy and Nanny Ciss and play Exploding Snap, which didn't seem like half as much fun as the others were having."

Hermione spat her tea back into her beaker as laughter broke through her barrier. Harry just chewed his toast as fast as he could. He was sure he might break a rib with all this straining.

"W-were they, sweetheart?" Hermione replied with, Harry thought admiringly, remarkable composure.

"Oh yes," Celesca went on calmly. "And I think some people thought it was Halloween, too. But, as I was telling Miss Myfanwy earlier, that isn't till _next_ month. I think, being stuck here, people forget what date it is, you know."

"And…um…why did they think it was Halloween?" asked Harry, warring for control of his lungs.

"Well, it was all that _screaming_," Celesca explained patiently. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand under the table and almost broke his fingers with her vibrating death grip. They couldn't hold out much longer. "I don't know if they were scaring each other on purpose or what, but it must have been terribly frightening. And Miss Enola does a _very_ good zombie impression, too. Can you do it for me now, Miss Enola? You know the one…_urghhh urggghh urghhh…_ it's really very scary."

"Yes, yes it is," Neville agreed solemnly, as Harry purposely knocked his fork to the floor, so he could quietly die under the table as he ducked down to retrieve it. He wondered vaguely who would find his corpse.

_No cheating, Harry! Get back up here! This is your fault, you face it like a man!_

Harry frowned. He would have to hit the mind defence books as soon as he had a spare five minutes, otherwise Hermione was _totally_ going to abuse this little _gift_ she was developing. He returned to his seat and frowned at her good-naturedly, then thought a whole tirade of cutting insults for her to read from the inside of his mind. She liked to read, so Harry thought she might appreciate that.

But, judging by the scowl on her face, he was going to pay for that misjudgement later.

"So, why _didn't_ you have a party, Lady Hermione?" Celesca pressed. "Or did you forget it was your birthday?"

"I _did_ forget, actually," said Hermione, stupidly thinking the worst was over. "But Harry didn't forget. So we just had a little party on our own. My first birthday as his wife was something we just wanted to spend with just the two of us."

"I see. That's nice," said Celesca. "I know Mister Harry wouldn't ever forget your birthday, would you Mister Harry? He thinks such _pretty_ things about you Lady Hermione. I'm sure he gave you something special, didn't you, Mister Harry?"

Hermione spat tea down the front of her dress.

"Yes I did," Harry replied, grinning at Neville. "I gave her something _very_ special."

"Was it big?" asked Celesca, curiously. Hermione had gone purple trying to bite in her laughter. But she still kicked Harry under the table. "I think you're the kind of person who likes to give big things."

"Yep," said Harry, smirking broadly. "It was huge."

"But it's what you do with it that counts," Neville added.

"And what's that?" asked Celesca, fascinated.

"Yeah, Nev," asked Harry calmly. "What _is _that, again?"

"You make girls happy with it," Neville countered smoothly. Harry acknowledged the skill with a brief nod.

"Oh. That's nice," said Celesca. "Do you think I can get one, seeing as I'm a girl?"

"No!" Hermione, Enola and Luna cried in chorus.

Celesca frowned. "Well, that seems very unfair, if you ask me," she said haughtily. "Especially if all the other girls get one. Maybe I can just _borrow_ yours, Lady Hermione. You can't have liked it. Mummy said all the broken windows were _your_ fault. I don't think you'd have smashed windows if you were _happy,_ would you? Maybe you broke it. I'll think I'd better come up later and have go on it, see if it still works. If not, I'll take it away for you. I think that would be best."

Harry had lost the ability to breathe. He couldn't take much more.

"No, sweetie, its fine," said Hermione gently. "Mister Harry has put it away already. And that's where it will be staying if he doesn't _grow up_."

_Sorry, Min._ Harry thought. Hermione heard him, and narrowed her eyes in his direction. But they were still twinkling with humour. So he knew he was safe.

"How about we have a proper party tomorrow?" Harry offered to Celesca, as much to pacify his wife as anything. "I'm sure you can help decorate it and things."

"Oooh, can I, Mummy?" cried Celesca excitedly, easily redirected. "I wont be any trouble, honest."

"Of course, sweetie," said Luna, smiling. "Why don't we go and find Rhian, see if any of the house-elves can be spared to help."

"Okay, but I don't think they will," said Celesca seriously. "That earthquake last night _really_ broke the house…its going to take _ages_ to clean it all up…"

* * *

The first port of call was to fix the plumbing. Nobody had been able to shower, which may have accounted for the silence at breakfast. It had simply been too pungent an aroma too ignore, had conversation even got started. Besides, that was Hermione's primary demand, too. She wanted a long, relaxing bath, and she promised to be seriously grouchy until she got one. So Harry spent much of the morning fiddling around with pipes and u-bends, working with his maintenance elves to get water flowing back around the palace.

His wife's wish was his command, after all.

But Hermione refused to let Harry watch her bathe, which he thought was singularly spoilsporty, so he removed himself away from the bathroom and made his way back through the floor. The elves, bless them, had focused on his own personal rooms before anywhere else. They were totally bare right now, which made a stark change.

Apparently, objects broken by potent sex magic couldn't be repaired by standard magical means. They had to be rebuilt or replaced.

Harry chuckled to himself as he thought that. Replacing the family silverware because he had melted it with such hot sex. At least it meant he was good at it, he reasoned. He'd have to justify it to his family though, and that wasn't a conversation he'd enjoy having with his mother

As for his _father_, well, he had a _lot_ of explaining of his own to do.

Harry moved into the cool of the sub-levels to the palace. There was no damage down here, it was all as it should be. That wasn't surprising. The magic of the palace was more focused here than anywhere. Every time Harry opened the door he was hit with a little puff of energy. He always likened it to what he expected would happen when the space shuttle docked at the international space station. A transfer of air, a sharing of energy.

Only _this_ one took his breath away.

Harry closed the door and leaned against it, absorbing the power swirling all around him. It came to him in a way it did to no-one else. Almost like a pet rushing to greet its returning master. It had a similar sort of feel, somehow comforting and welcoming. Harry wondered if Hermione would feel it when she next came down here.

For this was _Potter_ family magic…from Merlin through Godric Gryffindor right to Harry himself. And now to Hermione. Hermione Potter. His _wife._

Seriously, he had to stop thrilling at this. Hermione was his wife now, she was going to be that for every day for as long as he lived. Was he going to go this mindlessly delirious every single time he thought it? He rather hoped he _would_. If it was that easy to become so happy, who was he to fight it? He felt the urge to run and jump and cry out like an excited child. He looked around mischievously. No-one would see him if he _did_…not down here.

So he did. Just a little. And it was great.

Then he fixed his mood back to where he needed it. Flicked that little switch in his mind to _Royally Pissed Off_. It wasn't hard. He just flirted with some of the memories he and his wife had been sharing last night, about some of the confessions Harry felt he just _had_ to make. Get most of it out into the open, he'd thought, lay as much out as he needed to.

It wouldn't have made a difference pretending, anyway. Hermione would have just read him while he slept. That's what she'd done, he reckoned. He was sure of it. The temptation would have proved too much.

It was a good thing, Harry thought, that his mind was so jumbled anyway. Hermione wouldn't have been able to pick out anything too bad. Harry had a wild notion of Hermione trying to impose the Dewey Decimal System on his fractured brain. Then he'd be in trouble. Marrying the love of his life, in the most intimate type of wedding possible, was all well and good, but he couldn't even think naughty things about her now without her knowing.

Not that it mattered…they'd _done_ most of them anyway.

Harry shook that thought off, quite literally. His body shivered pleasantly as the memories crossed him. But he wasn't down here to go wild over the passion of his new sex life. He was down here to be cross, to hand out a serious reprimand. And for that he needed to go right to the _third_ sub-level.

Harry checked behind himself twice out of habit, as he reached the suit of armour at the end of last corridor on sub-level two. It had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor and the breastplate was bedecked in the Gryffindor lion, resplendent in red and gold. Harry smoothed it fondly, remembering happier times. Then he grinned.

Happier times? When had that been? When had he been happier than now? _Had_ he ever been happier than now? He knew instantly that he hadn't. Yeah, he had an ugly scar and lots of people were trying to kill him, but there was nothing new about that. It wasn't so bad, not when he had his marriage to Hermione as a counter-balance.

His wife. She _really_ was. It was truly the most amazing thing.

The wine cellar was next to the armour and the door was open. Harry glanced inside as he passed. It was only half full. That wouldn't do, not if they were going to throw Hermione a birthday party. He _so_ wanted to see her drunk. He imagined it would be the funniest thing…

But he pushed all these happy thoughts aside with a slight frown. He was getting more and more of them. And he wasn't sure he liked it. It was like being _normal, _and that was just all kinds of weird, especially for him. But he couldn't help it. They were just suddenly there, he couldn't stop them. He pondered that as he opened the armour and stepped inside.

The suit span immediately, as soon as Harry closed the clasp. It clanked to a shuddering halt a second or two later. Dizzied, Harry stepped out into the pitch darkness of a terribly cold corridor. He waved his hand, magic erupted from his family ring, and flaming sconces were soon crackling merrily along the roughly hewn brackets set high into the walls. Harry let their warmth wash over him as he walked along through the flickering pools of orange light.

Harry quested for the door at the far end of the corridor. He resisted the urge to peek into the money vault. Sometimes he just liked to stare at all the piles of his gold. Of _his and Hermione's_ gold now. He couldn't wait for her to start enjoying it. She'd been so energised, so excited at the prospects that being so rich threw up for her…he just wanted to indulge her passions as soon as he could. He literally felt there was nothing he'd not do, no amount he wouldn't spend - if that's what it took -, if his reward would just be to see her happy. He was ashamed of his own take on the cash. He was just content to horde it, watch it pile up.

And the pile was _significant_ now.

He'd even tried _swimming _in it once. But it had proved to be rather impractical. Which was a pity, as he'd put on a bathing costume and a snorkel and everything. Rhian had given him some _very_ peculiar looks when she'd caught him coming out of the vault…

Harry laughed to himself at the memory. He might as well just give in. He was happy. What was the point in pretending otherwise? He didn't want to be just now, not with what he had to to. But Hermione just had this special magic about her. It was the most powerful ever discovered. Maybe she could write a textbook about it, petition for it to be added to the curriculum at Hogwarts.

It was the magic to make Harry Potter _smile_. Even with a half a mouth. A mouth usually twisted into a permanent sneer by Tom Riddle's last curse on him. It worked, even when his wife wasn't there to make it happen. What sort of defence could anyone hope to have against _that_ sort of power?

Harry just allowed his grin to remain plastered to his face as he entered the last room on the floor. The space was a perfect circle, much smaller than the Ritual Room, and much calmer in energy. For this was for a purpose far more intimate than ritual of that sort. The room was brightly lit from a point high in the ceiling. Harry had never found the source of the light. It was just…_there_. It shone down onto a large sarsen standing stone at the centre. It had been placed by Merlin himself, to allow him to commune with the other wizards and giants, when they were building his great stone circle at Glastonbury. The most powerful ritual circle in the world.

And now, Harry Potter used it to commune with his deceased parents.

"I know you're there, Dad, there's no point in hiding."

James Potter stepped into view. Harry didn't catch quite from where. He might have come from _inside _the stone for all Harry was aware. It didn't much matter. He was there, and that was all that was important.

"How did you know?" asked James. "I thought I was getting very good at being invisible. Sirius has been giving me some pointers."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his father. Every time he saw him, he was a little glad of his scar to tell the truth. For it was like looking at himself in the future, older and greyer, like some sort of reverse echo. It was very odd.

"Is Sirius here?" asked Harry.

"No, he's off womanising somewhere," James smirked. "There are a _lot_ of pretty spirit ladies up here and all the time in eternity. Your mother will be along in a minute though. She's rather hoping she might get to have a girly natter with her new _daughter-in-law_…"

Harry let himself thrill again a moment, before turning on his father with an angry frown. _There_ was the old him. Finally…

"No, my _wife_ wont be coming today," said Harry, his fury flickering. "A _White Queen_ needs her pampering time…"

"Ahhh," said James, sheepishly. "About that…"

"You _knew_!" Harry thundered. "You knew what she was! All along. And you didn't tell me!"

"Harry…son…"

"Don't try and fob me off!" Harry cried furiously, cutting his father off. "All that preparation, all that ritual, all that bullshit _allegory!_ And you knew all the time. She could have been _killed, _Dad! You don't fuck around with that…not with _her_…not with her fucking _life!_"

"Watch your language, Harry, your mother is listening," said James sternly.

"_Fuck you_, Dad. Fuck mum, too," Harry spat. He pushed aside a jolt of gut-churning guilt at his own outburst, and continued on. "You should have told me. I don't care what you have to say about it."

"Could you have protected her, if we'd told you right away?" James returned, evenly. Harry paused, riling as much against the truth as he was against his father now. "Harry…you _totally_ accepted that you were in love with Hermione, as soon as your mother pointed out that little fact to you. What would you have done, if we'd told you everything else we suspected about her on that first meeting in here? You remember what you were like for those first few months…after you _woke up."_

Harry huffed. "Yeah. I was a little ball of rage."

"Of _undirected_ rage," James corrected. "Harry, you couldn't have helped her. In your state, you were as likely to _hurt_ as help."

"She was hurt enough," said Harry darkly.

"That wasn't your fault," said James, consolingly. "None of us suspected the way the Weasley's would turn so ugly. But, in any case, we didn't tell _you_ that you were a Red King until we thought you were ready. Hermione wouldn't have been ready to be your Queen then, either. She had to develop into the role herself."

"I don't think getting _raped_ and battered counts as development!" Harry yelled, anger bursting free from him like a spear. James caught it with a lazy hand and let it dissipate into the stone, which shone green as it absorbed Harry's rabid emotion.

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it," said James patiently.

"Then explain what you did mean, Dad!" Harry hissed, his rage still flaring. "Because to _me_ it sounds like you're saying you let me leave Hermione, the love of my life, my _soul mate_, to the twisted whims of Ronald fucking Weasley…for her own _good_."

"I didn't mean that," said James. "We all have to live with the horror of what has happened to your wonderful wife. Maybe we'll never forgive ourselves for allowing it. _But_…she survived. She became stronger. I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but she's tough as treated dragonhide. She's more than a match for _you._"

"No, you're wrong," Harry volleyed back. "She's the _perfect_ match for me…and it's the rest of the world that doesn't measure up…to _us_."

James smiled warmly. "Well, at least on _that_ we can all agree."

Harry roared in frustration and began to pace.

"All I meant, son," James persisted again. "Is that Hermione has had to endure, as you did. Stepping into the roles you have _requires_ a bit of that. Merlin, had it not had to be so horrific! But they are the times we are in. And look at the reward…for both of you. I mean, have you _seen_ how deliriously _happy_ Hermione is now? All that joy, son…that's all down to _you_."

Harry's heart leapt to life, racing fast, his breath catching in his lungs with it. He wasn't going to cry…not in front of his dad.

Which was just dumb…because _James _was tearing up, himself.

"Sometimes, and this is a tough lesson, you've got to lose…just so you can know how to _win_."

And Harry's tears came against his will. For he had _won_. The whole story could stop right now. And Harry would have claimed victory against life, and the powers that, for so long, seemed to have ranged against him. And against his wife, too. Dumb, stupid bastards. He would have his day against the whole twatting lot of them.

And the very universe would rue the day it made enemies out of Harry and Hermione Potter.

"I just don't understand why you had to make it so hard…for _her,_" Harry protested lowly, drying his eye with his shawl. "For me, fine…but not for _her."_

"There are a few people who made it all so hard," said James. "Tom Riddle, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley…take your pick."

"I pick them _all,_"said Harry, dangerously. "And I intend to _pick them off_…one at a time. But you could have given me a hint, a clue, _anything_. It took three years for me to learn what she was suffering under. You must have known. You could have pointed me in the direction sooner, that's all I'm mad about. You could have let me poison him, have him killed. I have lots of contacts, lots of ways, you know that. I just don't understand why you didn't."

"You will," said James gently, taking a step towards Harry's riling form. "I couldn't tell you, neither could your mother. We are your parents, but you are also our Alchemy Adept. Telling you straight up isn't how it works. You'll know one day, you'll understand…when you and Hermione have a _son_ of your own…"

Harry stilled in spite of himself, breathing hard. His father's words hung between them. That wasn't vague or ephemeral…it was like he _knew."_

"W-what are you talking about?" Harry stuttered out.

James smiled at him. "I'm talking about my _grandson_. I'm not going to tell you when, I'm not going to tell you how…well, I assume you know _how_…you certainly _learned _how…that was some wedding night…"

Harry blushed. "You didn't watch that, did you?"

"That's a rather disturbing idea," said James. "No, we didn't watch. They lock you up for that kind of thing, even in the afterlife. But we _felt_ it. How much of the palace is left?"

"Not much," Harry grinned, nervously.

"I'll teach you some _proper_ wards for that sort of stuff later," said James off-handedly. "Yours were a little bit pathetic, to be honest. The ones me and your mum had to put up at Hogwarts…"

"Dad."

"What you _really_ need is some yew bark," James ploughed on. "There're trees on the grounds somewhere. It deflects magic _back,_ rather than trying to absorb it. Sirius built us a sort of palisade wall that we could concertina and take around with us. I'll get him to send you the schematics. _Very_ handy for camping, or if you just fancy a roll around at the side of a motorway or something. Your mum was _big_ into powerful Muggle cars…Hermione is Muggleborn, maybe it's a thing for Muggle girls, you'll have to ask her…long-distance driving with your mum was always an interesting experience…"

"Dad. Enough, please."

"And this one time, at Lily's mums', we snuck into the attic at Christmas. There was this thing your Mum liked to do, see, where she'd hang me upside down from the trapdoor and -"

"Dad, stop, seriously!" Harry pleaded. "Before you scar me with something worse than I've already got!"

"Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry," said James sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I suppose I'm just in an excitable mood. My _son_ has just gotten married! I'm just letting off steam."

Harry huffed. He was trying so hard to be cross. But every single mention of Hermione, or their marriage, was likely to render him inert.

"It's fine, Dad," said Harry. "I'm excited, too. Even more so _now._ So…a _son_…you were saying?"

"And that was _far_ more than he should have. Come here and give me a hug."

Harry span, and found himself face-to-face with his mother, striding across the room to meet him. He closed the gap between them, then closed his arms around _her,_ squeezing her tight. Harry never quite knew how to describe them. They were dead, so they were spirits, but they were also _solid_. Harry could hug and touch them and things. It was bizarre but, just like the source of the light in the room, he just accepted it without question. It just _was_.

"Congratulations, darling," said Lily, hugging Harry close. "I'm so happy for you. For the _both_ of you. I know you're angry with us, but you should have brought Hermione with you. I really wanted to see her."

"Another day, Mum," said Harry, stepping free from her death hold on him. "She's bathing. It's been a long few days for her. She needs to recover from everything. Besides, she doesn't know about this place yet. She'll think she can contact _any_ spirit down here, once she sees you two."

Lily looked at Harry with sad eyes. "Yes, you're probably right. But in about a year or so, Hermione's parents should be strong enough to come along with us."

"How…how are they?" Harry asked tentatively.

James sighed. "It's a slow recovery, son. It's going to take a hell of lot of effort and energy to repair the damage to them. Just give it time…and for Merlin's sake stop _blaming yourself_ for it. Hermione has such a job on her hands with you. I don't envy the girl."

"Hermione will be furious when she finds out," said Harry, ruefully. "I can't even _begin_ to imagine how cross she'll be with me. For not telling her. I'm still not going to, though. She has enough hate for Ron as it is."

"You're a braver man than me, son," James chuckled. "Your wife is a lovely woman but, wow…what a temper!"

"It's not just that, Dad, it's the _creativity,_" Harry laughed. "It's bloody _frightening. _She said she's going to create a tartan beret out of Ron's_ scalp_, once she flays it off. I fell in love with her a little more when she said that!"

Lily joined the laughter. "Merlin knows what she'll do with the rest of him, then, once she finds out what he and Ginny did to David and Catrin's souls."

Just then, a disembodied head popped out of the sarsen stone. A long grey, beard trailed to the ground.

"I could tell you, if you like," said the head.

"Fuck off, Merlin, this is parent and child time," James chided playfully.

"Don't forget, you are _all_ my children," said Merlin, his eyes twinkling. "I _sired_ the bloody lot of you. Hello, Harry."

"'Lo, Merlin," said Harry, rolling his eye. He was the _worst_ eavesdropper of all his ancestors and dead relatives.

"When are you going to bring that delightful witch of yours to meet me?" asked Merlin, stepping fully into the room now, dropping all pretence that he ever intended to do anything else. "She is the most powerful new witch to join the family in _centuries._ I have a bet with Godric that she will eventually replace Rowena as my favourite."

Harry chuckled. "Have you told _Rowena_ that?"

"Oh…well, _me_ no," Merlin chortled. "Who _am_ I supposed to swear to? All day long all I hear _Merlin, this_ and _Merlin, that_…hmm. Anyway, back to Rowena. She'd roast me for suggesting it. We've yet to have a death in the afterlife in, ooh, the entire of history recorded and unrecorded. I'm sure Rowena would find a way, though."

"Tell her to work at it," Harry grinned. "I'll be sending you what I leave intact of Tom Riddle very soon. I don't intent to spend my _own_ afterlife finding a way to make him extinct."

"I shall pass on the message," said Merlin, chuckling. "She always did like a challenge."

"Well, she did marry Godric," said Harry fairly. "She'd be tested for latent insanity for that sort of decision in this day and age."

"Such things never change, my boy," said Merlin. "Perhaps that explains all the time she's spending with Mr Freud this last decade or so. I did wonder."

"Right, that's enough," said Lily, crossly. "Merlin…fuck off."

"Well said, dear," James nodded approvingly. "Can we just have some time with our son?"

Merlin sighed. "Harry is _all_ of ours son. But, I shall leave his _biological_ parents to him. Are we still up for game night, later? I understand Minerva has found a date for Couples Twister."

Harry rolled his eye again. Bloody dead people. They _loved_ their toys.

Merlin disappeared back through the sarsen stone, throwing Harry a cheery wave over his shoulder as he went.

"Where the hell were we?" asked James. "Bloody Merlin. You have all the joys of this to come, son."

Harry chortled. "You were saying about Hermione's mum and dad."

"Ah yes," said Lily. "It's going to be a while before they have strength enough to meet her again. They are very poorly."

"A year or so, you said?" asked Harry. Lily nodded. "Okay. But there's no use _her_ knowing that. She'll be counting the days."

"Or she'll make a little chart," James quipped, perching on a low bench that had suddenly appeared next to him. "She seems to have charts for everything. Speaking of which…when are you going to tell her about _yours_?"

"Not now, Dad," Harry snapped. "Today is about _your_ secrets, not mine."

"You can't keep this from her, Harry," said Lily gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She'll find out one way or another."

"And if you think she'll be cross with you for not telling her about Ron, Ginny and her parents…" James added.

Harry huffed. "The Alchemy Link will tell her, won't it? Seriously, you should have told me. I could have prepared."

"Prepared for what, son?" said James. "You're being spectacularly _dim_ about all of this."

"You joined with Hermione in mind, body and soul," said Lily. "And it was the most beautiful thing. There isn't _anything_ you wont share now."

"If that's true, why can't I hear _her_ thoughts, too?" asked Harry. "Seems a little one sided, if you ask me."

"Because your head is broken, son," said James. "Hermione's thoughts will be there somewhere, but good luck _finding _them in that trainwreck you call a mind!"

Haffy guffawed. "Can I be fixed? Or do I just have to go around thinking about books at Christmas, when in fact I've bought her a big fat diamond?"

Lily laughed at that one. "You can _feel_ her though, can't you?" she queried. "Her feelings…like they are _inside_ _you_?"

"Oh yeah, I can do _that,_" said Harry dismissively. "But it's not nearly as accurate. I mean, we tested it this morning. I thought things, she recited them. I even went random as hell. I thought nonsense sentences - nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak. That sort of thing. She got it spot on. I feel her, but it's nothing like as precise."

"But, next to impossible to _fake," _Lily pointed out with a smile. "You can think what you like, and Hermione will read it. But she can't pretend to _feel_ something for you that she doesn't. Personally, I'd prefer your side of it. But I'm just a bit of a romantic like that."

Harry grinned to himself. He hadn't thought of it like _that_. The idea warmed his chest.

"Okay. I like that. But the rest of me…_can_ I be fixed now? I thought you said…"

"We can't tell you all the answers, that isn't how it works," said James, quickly, slicing him off. "Being an Alchemical Adept is to embark upon a journey to knowledge and enlightenment. It could take your entire life and you still might not reach the ultimate end. If there are answers to your questions, you and Hermione will find them together."

"How far does that go, though?" asked Harry. "Sounds either too vague or too evasive."

Lily smiled at him. "Harry, you are a Red King. Hermione, your White Queen. The most complete and pure wedded ordination that nature can provide. There isn't any question you cant answer or problem you cant solve. If you set your _heart_ to it, and she puts her _mind_ to it, the solution to any issue will come to you eventually."

"Like how to defeat Riddle," said Harry bitterly.

"Harry, you _already_ know how to do that," said James, dismissively. "But you need to tell Hermione about it, confirm her suspicions and bring her in. You _have_ to let her help. It'll make the whole thing ten times easier."

"And Harry," said Lily, coming forward and taking Harry's hand, looking at him seriously. "Let Hermione do the things you can't. Just accept it. She can handle the moral ambiguities. She'll do whatever it takes…for you."

"Riddle has made another fundamental mistake here," said James, standing and taking over. "You know it, _Hermione_ knows it - though she doesn't want it to be true - and you have a real shot at making it Riddle's last. Don't let him get away…not now that you have him where you want him."

Harry sighed. "Okay. It won't be easy for me, you know that. You could have made it so much easier if you'd just _told_ me from the start."

"And where would have been the fun in _that_?" James teased. Harry scowled at him. He didn't think exposing Hermione to four years of solid abuse and threats to her life was any idea of _fun_. Not in the slightest. He didn't need words to tell his father that. "Sorry."

"You can tell Hermione that," said Harry, adding darkly. "You can explain everything. And if_ she_ doesn't forgive you, neither will I."

"That's fair enough," said Lily. "But, Harry, in all seriousness…keep an eye on her with little Celesca Lovegood, wont you…"

* * *

"Is it safe to come in here now?"

The door to Harry and Hermione's bedroom clicked shut and Enola leaned back against it a moment. She grinned over at Hermione, who was sat on the bed with her hair and body wrapped in towels, while Sally patiently painted her toenails with a pretty French manicure. Enola thought it suited her.

"Yeah, come on in," Hermione grinned widely. "Have a seat. Just mind the walls. The paint is still drying!"

She patted the bed and Enola scooted over to join her. Her eyes were bright, and naughtily inquisitive.

"Well…how _was_ it?"

Hermione blushed and looked down at her elf. Sally flicked her globe-like eyes back up at her

"Oh, you not need to worry, Mistress," said Sally, tapping her head with her one armed hand. "Sally not listen to your secrets, but keep them if I hears."

"Okay. Thank you," said Hermione, before turning excitedly to Enola. "Oh, _Ennie_…it was _incredible!_ It was everything I could have possibly dreamed…and a million times more!"

"You went on for _ages_, Min!" Enola exclaimed. "I'm surprised you are still _alive!"_

"You and me both," Hermione grinned. "My breath…wow. I lost it time and time and time again! If I'd had died, I wouldn't have been sorry. Well, apart from leaving Harry behind, obviously. Oh, En, he was just amazing."

"And _you_…everything worked?" asked Enola, pointedly, glancing down.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "I was worried…I tried, in the afternoon, like you said to. Couldn't really get anything going. But then, Harry, well…he cast _runes_ on me, En!"

"What? Actually _on_ you? Onto your _body_?"

"Yep," Hermione grinned. "And when they joined together I just _exploded!_ My God, it was _mind-blowing!_ And it wasn't just runes, either. Little pictorial _spells._ I didn't even know there _was_ such a thing!"

"Me _neither!_" Enola exclaimed. "Wow. You lucky witch! Do you think he could teach Nev? Not that he _needs_ it right now…but just in case…in case this passes..."

Enola looked away sheepishly. She shouldn't have said that.

But Hermione had reached over, coaxed her head up to look at her. She was smiling at her, her eyes dazzlingly bright.

"It wont…_trust_ me."

Enola swallowed hard. What did _that_ mean?

"I know, Enola, I _know,"_ said Hermione delicately. "Harry told me everything."

Enola shifted awkwardly. "H-he did? Ev-everything?"

Hermione nodded gently. "And you don't have to tell me anything, discuss anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just know that _I_ know…and that I'm here if you _ever_ need anything. I'll never be too busy for you, just to listen if that's all you need."

Enola burst into tears, like an exploding bomb. She clung hard to Hermione and wept into her towel-covered shoulder.

"I love you, Min," Enola sobbed. "If I ever forget to tell you…"

"Don't let Harry hear you say that," said Hermione, laughing. "He thinks we're on the verge of a lesbian tryst as it is!"

Enola hooted with laughter and dried her eyes. "Why does he think that?"

"Well, because I told him we were," said Hermione simply. Enola howled with fresh giggles. "You should have seen him _squirm_. It was delicious."

Enola laughed again. "Min, you're terrible!"

"I was thinking of _Min the Merciless_, actually. Harry called me it for the first time last night. I don't know…it was the cutest thing."

Enola frowned. "Harry called you _Min the Merciless?_"

Now Hermione took a turn at laughing. "No, he just called me _Min_. He always said he didn't want to, but, I don't know, I sort of liked him calling me it. I'd quite like him to _keep_ calling me it, actually. But I don't know if he will."

"Just ask him," said Enola casually. "He'll do whatever you ask him to. Especially now you've _carpeted_ him."

"Carpeted?"

"Yeah…now you've_ laid_ him you can walk all over him!"

And both girls fell about laughing.

"Mistress Hermione!" Sally admonished. "Stay still! Yous going to ruin my hard work!"

"I'm sorry, Sally," Hermione apologised through her giggles. "I'll behave, I promise."

Sally frowned and went back to work.

"So, my Nev," Enola went on. "You seemed quite certain his little…er…_problem_ was over. How are you so sure?"

"Well, Harry did this ridiculously clever bit of magic," said Hermione proudly. "Honestly, En, some of the stuff he comes up with. Takes my breath and blows my mind and other assorted superlatives. Anyway, it was designed so that Harry could keep an erection for _me," _she blushed crazily, and Enola swooned out loud. "But it was a _healing_ spell. It helped Harry to perform, but it seems to have _completely fixed_ Neville."

"But how?"

"Harry thinks it was the purity of his intent," Hermione explained.

"Doesn't sound very _pure_ to me!" Enola winked.

"No, it led to some utter _filth_," Hermione agreed as her flush deepened. "_But,_ his _intention_ was pure. It wasn't for him, it was for _me_. It was a way for him to give his love to me. As often as I wanted it…or could cope with it!"

"Hermione…I'm kind of hating you right now," Enola grinned. "Harry is literally so good to you…it puts the rest of men-kind to shame."

"Doesn't it just!" Hermione laughed. "But, I'm not sharing. So don't ask. Especially not with you."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're a fucking goddess, that's what," Hermione huffed good-naturedly. "Harry is utterly devoted to me…but I'm not going to risk him with divine temptation."

"So _you_ can fuck me, but he can't?" Enola quirked.

"Seems a fair deal to me," Hermione nodded.

Enola hooted with laughter. "I'll pitch the idea to Nev. We've been trying to get a Potter to join us in bed for a while. Harry was always making excuses, maybe _Mrs Potter_ will be more pliant!"

Hermione swooned at the mention of her married name. She glanced at her wedding ring again, just smiled at it for a full minute.

"However, I don't think I'd let Nev shag _you_, either," Enola went on thoughtfully. "He would just have to watch _us. _But, you were saying…"

"Oh, yeah," Hermione went on, her cheeks burning. "Harry's spell kept him going. But when you and Nev had sex in here, the spell - which Harry had cast into the brickwork - must have sought Nev out, seen that there was a problem to be fixed…and _fixed_ it."

"Lucky me," said Enola dreamily. Then her face exploded in colour. "Min…Min…how far do you think that healing might have gone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it fixed Nev's erection problems," said Enola with cautious enthusiasm. "Do you think…could it have…repaired _everything else_?"

Enola reached down and rubbed her belly. Hermione's eyes shot open.

"Didn't you cast a contraception charm?"

"It didn't occur to me," said Enola. "We haven't had sex in _months_. Months and months. I wasn't going to stop for anything once he jumped on me. And he's jumped on me a _lot_ over the last couple of days!"

"Oh, _Ennie_!" Hermione exclaimed. "I really hope so, for you. Assuming that's still what you want, obviously."

"It's the _only_ thing I want," said Enola beaming. She clutched hard at her womb, hoping Neville's seed was quickening there. Then a powerful thought hit her in the chest. "Min…did Harry tell you in detail, you know…about Nev losing his _bits?"_

"Yeah, he did," said Hermione, anger twinkling in her eyes. "He said he was castrated by Dark Magic. Fucking cunts."

Enola was warmed by Hermione being so enraged on her behalf. But she wasn't concerned about that just now.

"But…Harry has healed that? That's what you think?"

"Well, you tell me," Hermione grinned. "Was it as good as before?"

"Better!" Enola chuckled. "What's that they say about absence making the heart grow fonder? It works for sex, too. But, no, what I mean is that, you're saying Harry has cured a Dark Magic spell…just through his own _Light Intent?"_

"Well…yes, I suppose he has."

"And that could be applied to _other_ Dark Magic injuries?"

Hermione squinted at her. "I suppose…if Harry knew what he was up against…yes, you could make that leap. Why?"

Enola suddenly jumped up. "Do you know where Harry is? Where he is right at this moment?"

"No, but I'm sure Rhian can find him," said Hermione. "Enola - what's going on?"

Enola took a passionate breath. "We have to find Harry. We have to find him_ right now."_

"Why?"

"It's Angharad…she's dying," said Enola bluntly. Hermione gasped in shocked dismay. "But, if Harry can heal Dark Magic with Light of his own…maybe he can save her life."

And Hermione called for her Head Elf at once.

* * *

Harry's heart was beating so hard he didn't know what to do with himself. In his panic he forget that he could Apparate, or that Rhian could have done it for him. So, instead, he had sprinted up the six levels of the house to reach Angharad's room. He was out of breath by the time he got there and frowned at himself. He was so out of shape. Dietmar would be pissing himself if he could see him right now.

But he brushed that aside, as he skidded into Hermione and Enola, who were waiting for him at the top of the fourth floor staircase. Harry bristled at Neville's wife.

"You s-should have t-told me," he panted, his hands on his knees. "You should have told me about this!"

"What? When was she supposed to have done that? When you were balls' deep in _me?_" asked Hermione, frowning hard. "Leave her alone!"

Harry laughed so hard at that he forgot he was supposed to be mad. Enola grinned at him as soon as she felt safe enough to do so.

"Sorry, En."

"Better," said Hermione crossly. "Now, come on, we're wasting time."

Hermione opened the door and led the way into Angharad's suite. Arianwen, who Sally had fetched, was already there waiting for them.

"Talk to me," Harry commanded. He saw, or rather he _felt,_ Hermione flip and wriggle a little inside at his take-charge attitude. Harry realised his mum had been right…his was _definitely_ the better of their new talents.

"Little Annie, here, was hit by that curse designed by Mister Dolohov," Arianwen began. "But you know all that. We've tried to break the curse down, using the residue on her battlerobe."

"Any success?" asked Harry, sitting next to Angharad. He looked at her with deep concern. She was unconscious, her skin pale and sweaty.

"Very little," said Arianwen, sadly. "It has a lot of common elements - degrading curses are nothing new. But it seems to come in _cycles_. Troughs and peaks that seem to hit almost at random. We can't find a common trigger. She can be fine one minute then…_bang_…she gets like this."

"And it gets more potent on each cycle," Enola added, smoothing Angharad's forehead. "Mum, pass me the cloth. She's _searing_ hot."

Arianwen dabbed a cloth she was holding into a bowl of iced water, and Enola pressed it tenderly to Angharad's boiling skin.

"What do you mean by _potent_?" Hermione asked.

"It gets stronger, practically multiplies its own power intensity," Arianwen explained. "When Ann came back from Hengest, I would have given her till Christmas. At this rate, she might not last the week."

Harry stirred with imperative concern, as Hermione threw her hand to her mouth.

"Harry…you…"

Harry cut off Arianwen with a swift look, as her eyes flicked to Hermione. But it was too late. Hermione had seen it. Even if she _hadn't,_ she heard Harry's thought clear as day in her mind.

"Me?.." she whispered. "You cured _me _of this? Recently…"

"I was going to tell you…"

"No, you weren't," Hermione quirked. "You never could lie to me, Harry. You have no chance now. I'm not mad. Well, I_ wont_ be, if you had a good reason and you tell it to me."

"I found a hole in your heart," Harry explained quietly. "I knew it was there…from the first time I examined you after you arrived. I…I thought it was from what Ron had tried to do to you."

Harry felt Hermione's anger erupt in his _own_ chest. It was fierce.

"What did Ron do to me?"

"He tried to make you forget about me…with magic. It was just after the Deathday Party you held on my second anniversary…the first one after you got married to him."

"After he _forced_ me to get married to him," Hermione hissed angrily. She span her new wedding ring to offset her pulsing rage. "Explain, quickly Harry, before I lose my temper."

"He thought, after you married him, that you wouldn't bother with me anymore," said Harry. "He thought he'd finally beaten me, where _you_ were concerned, because you accepted his marriage proposal. He knows you delayed until after the first anniversary…in case I'd come back. I'm sorry, Hermione. I _knew_…I should've come to you…I almost did."

"What stopped you?"

Harry took a heavy sigh. "You'd said _yes_ to Ron the week before. I thought he'd won, too. I took myself off to Germany as soon as Nev told me about that."

Hermione looked so heartsick at Harry's words that he throbbed with it.

"It didn't take long for Ron to start abusing you after that, did it? Riddle he…he was insisting that Ron subjugate you by force. But Ron couldn't. He tried, but apart from being a joke of a wizard, he couldn't break through some shield you'd cast on yourself. He didn't know what it was. Couldn't shift it. So he…"

Harry had to steady himself. The windows were vibrating dangerously with his boiling fury.

"He had Riddle _curse _you…in person."

Hermione swore so violently it was _she_ who broke the window.

"Riddle _cursed me_?_"_ Hermione breathed angrily.

"Oh yes," Harry nodded, fighting for calm. "You and Tom Riddle have a far more intimate relationship than you know. He finds you _fascinating_…and this spell you'd cast on yourself was the trigger to his borderline _obsession_ with you."

All colour sped from Hermione's face.

"Even _he_ couldn't crack it, you see," Harry went on. "And he tried on _multiple_ occasions. But you kept repelling him until, during one _duel,_ this spell you'd cast decided enough was enough, and _consumed_ whatever curse Riddle was trying on you. It _ate_ through part of your heart…it would have killed you if he'd carried on, rather than give in.

"But he didn't. He wanted to know more about it. This was _new_ magic, and he wanted it for himself. But he couldn't touch it, couldn't beat it. And that just made him even _more_ curious about it…there was that...and also because the spell was all about _me."_

Everyone in the room was silent now, focusing on Hermione.

"You don't remember it," Harry went on. "You wiped your own memory. But you cast a spell on yourself, to stop yourself _falling in love_ with me. But you were _already_ in love with me, and I was already in love with you. And we were alchemically destined to be together. So nature decided it wasn't having any of that _us-not-being-in-love_ nonsense. It wouldn't even let_ us_ have any say in it! So it _changed_ your spell. Took power from _my _love for you…to do what you wanted, to protect yourself from getting hurt.

"And because the spell was from me, it was charged with _my_ intent…and I would do _anything_ to stop you being hurt, too…and because my parents had gone to such _extraordinary_ lengths to make sure Tom Riddle's magic couldn't hurt _me_…"

"It protected _me_ from him!" Hermione was crying freely now. Harry just nodded his response.

"It reacted to the threat and stopped it," said Harry. "But you'd been damaged. I thought that's what the hole was, until I saw the first analysis of Dolohov's Curse on Ann, here. So I checked you again, on a whim. The hole was slightly bigger. That confused me, until I realised Dolohov's Curse might still be affecting you, even after all these years. A quick diagnostic confirmed that. So I took a potion from my Alchemy stores and healed you."

Hermione was still crying, she sniffed hard and tried to speak.

"This is the point where you're supposed to say what _really_ happened was that I filled your broken heart with my massive, massive love!"

"Oh, shut up, you!" Hermione laughed, clobbering Harry with a bone-crunching hug and catching his mouth with her own. She folded into his lap and he really didn't care who could see or how much they were watching.

"S-so…can you heal Ann like that?" asked Arianwen, dabbing at her eyes.

"I don't know," said Harry, as Hermione curled her arm around his shoulders and shifted till she was more comfortable. She didn't want to get up off him and really had no interest in her going, either. "This version of the curse is far more advanced."

"We can't let her die, Harry," said Hermione. "Think…what can we do?"

Harry scrunched his eyes…and he _finally_ heard Hermione's words in his head.

_What can WE do…_

"Everyone needs to leave," said Harry firmly. "Leave me and Hermione alone with Ann."

"What are you going to do?" asked Enola.

"I couldn't explain it, and you'd not understand if I did," said Harry. "Only my _White Queen_ could."

Harry looked firmly at Hermione, pushing his intent at her. She nodded as she understood.

"Everyone out," she commanded, getting up and rounding the bed. "Ennie…you might want to ward the room. There's going to be some _serious_ magic going on in here."

"Will do," Enola nodded, and she led her mother away.

"What are you thinking, honey?" asked Hermione as soon as the door shut.

"Don't you know?" Harry quirked.

"I can hear something about joining power, but I'm a bit emotional over here. I'm not at the peak of my strengths!"

Harry laughed. "I'll make a note of that for future reference!"

"Harry."

"I'm just teasing."

"Now isn't the time, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Angharad needs us."

"You're right. I'm sorry," said Harry solemnly.

Hermione smiled her forgiveness. "So, your plan?"

"Okay," Harry began. "Lets assume, based on Nev, that I can heal Dark Magic injury. Let us also assume that Dolohov's Curse is laced with some serious Dark shit, itself. Probably, _personal_ Dark shit."

"That would explain why Arianwen and Enola can't stop the effects," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Exactly. So, it's my Light versus his Dark, with Ann's life in the balance. Do you agree?"

"No."

"No?"

"_No_," said Hermione, smiling. "It's his Dark versus _our_ Light. And we are going to _heal_ Angharad, however long it takes."

Harry grinned. "That works too. On top of that, we've just completed our Alchemical Opus by getting married."

"I don't know enough about Alchemy, Harry," said Hermione. "You're just going to have to be explicit with me on this one."

"Okay, it's like this," said Harry. He held his hands out to demonstrate. "Physical Alchemy on the one hand. To be considered to have completed the Opus, the alchemical Work, an alchemist must be able to produce not only gold and the Elixir of Life, but an _actual_ Philosophers Stone."

"Like Flamel?"

"Like Flamel," Harry nodded. "Then, after 600 years of life , you have a break with reality and entrust its safety to a dumb cunt like Dumbledore, who stores one of the most dangerous magical artefacts that a wizard can create, under a fucking _school_! And you guard it with a big dog, some flying keys and a chess set. Oh, and a mirror. I mean, you can't make this shit up!

"But I digress. Physical Alchemy _here," _Harry lifted his left hand up and down to illustrate his point. "Then you have _spiritual_ Alchemy _here_, which is what _better_ alchemists do."

"Like you." Hermione smiled.

"Like me," Harry agreed, winking at her. "I can do the other shit, but I turned from that type of alchemy almost straight away. I have lots of gold, I don't need to waste time _creating_ more. That's what my stock brokers are for. I'll show you how much later, if you want. It's fucking _epic_ down there now!"

"Harry…"

"Oh right. Sorry. As I was saying, by marrying _you_, I've jumped…_we've jumped_…to a whole new level. You've made me _gold_, spiritually and emotionally - don't look so coy…you _have_ \- and my mum and dad thought that was all there was to it. That this was all my journey, my quest alone.

"But they were _wrong_. This was _our_ journey, our quest_._ It was _always_ ours. I couldn't have gotten to this point without _you_."

Harry nearly lost his mind as he said that. He felt a surge of love from Hermione so powerful it left him utterly senseless a moment.

"But what does that mean, Harry?" asked Hermione in a breathy tone. She looked like she wanted to leap over the bed and pounce on him. Harry saw a _lot_ of merit in that idea.

"If I understand alchemy right, and I'm pretty sure I _do,_" Harry said excitedly. "Then it could mean something very important."

Hermione frowned in impatience. "Do you _want_ to have sex tonight?"

"Okay, okay, I'll get to the point" Harry said quickly. "We have formed the perfect alchemical couple. Sulphur -hot and dry, marries mercury - cold and moist…"

Hermione read Harry's thought and her eyes popped open. "Fire and earth, air and water. The four elements? But we don't…"

"I'm hot, through my passions, my _fire," _said Harry excitedly. "And I'm a master of air…"

"Through Quidditch?" asked Hermione, reaching into Harry's brain again.

"Well, through _flying_," said Harry. "But I was always chasing a _Golden_ Snitch…as a seeker…another word for an _adept_…"

"Okay, this is getting weirder every day," said Hermione, dizzied. "And me?"

"Easy," said Harry, smirking. "Granger…like a farmer…a tiller of _earth_. And you are cool, though your logic and mind. Which is the water part. What happens when you combine all four? I gave you a book on it once."

Hermione gasped. "The _fifth _element? The _Quintessence?"_

"Yep," Harry nodded. "If only I could tie you down to something azure or periwinkle blue, I'd have you pegged."

"How about this?" asked Hermione. She whipped out her wand and cast a gout of bluebell flames, azure blue in colour to be precise. Harry watched them in fond astonishment…remembered many a cold Hogwarts afternoon where Hermione would conjure a jar full to keep them warm between classes. It was a spell she'd perfected setting fire to Severus Snape during their first year at Hogwarts...

"Well, I was actually thinking of _this_…"

Harry drew his own wand and conjured a magical photograph. He passed it to Hermione, who gasped in utter shock.

"The Yule Ball...my dress…"

"What was it…_periwinkle blue_…if memory serves?" said Harry, smugly. "My bloody parents…they knew what you were to me _then_…I seriously hate them a bit."

"Periwinkle blue," Hermione whispered, reciting from her memory. "The _colour_ of the Quintessence. But Harry…what does that mean?"

"It means I'm dumb, blind, and should have known what you were to me a _long_ time ago," said Harry. "You are _my_ Quintessence…the culmination of _my_ part of the Opus. These are the signs nature sent to me, to know who my White Queen was. But, because Dumbledore fucked with nature, I didn't know who or what I was, and I didn't know that I was looking for something at all, let alone what it would look like when I found it. That's why I was never able to see you Hermione…I wasn't worthy. I didn't deserve to see my own _personal_ version of perfection, even though you were right in front of me the whole time. I had to have my eyes opened to you. I had to become good enough."

"And what makes you think you are now?" Hermione teased.

"_You_…" said Harry gently. "You accepting _me_. You deciding I was good enough for you, deciding to marry me, despite what I might have felt about it. You knew I wanted to, but it was the fact that _you_ wanted to so completely…it took me over that last hurdle. You've _completed_ me…in every way imaginable."

"Are you just _trying_ to dehydrate me on purpose?" said Hermione. "I'm not supposed to spend _all _day crying!"

"They're good tears, it's fine," Harry smirked. "But, don't you see? You are my Quintessence, the zenith of my Opus. And we've joined in an alchemical wedding. We've _become_ gold emotionally. But…"

"The rest?" Hermione queried. Harry nodded. "The Stone…the Elixir…"

"We _are_ the Stone," Harry whispered. "And, if I'm right, our very _love_ is the Elixir."

"What…what are you saying?" asked Hermione. "That we can _love_ Angharad back to health?"

"Don't scoff," said Harry. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"How?"

"Take my hand, close your mind, and open your heart, and just think as many positive thoughts as you can, focusing on Ann getting well," Harry commanded. And Hermione obeyed. "When you feel me come close, let me in."

"I never let you go, Harry. You've been in me all day."

"Is it wrong that I find that so deliciously filthy?"

"Yes. But I do, too, so we'll be all sorts of wrong together. Now, heal Angharad."

"Yes, my Lady."

Harry quietened his mind, reaching gently for that soft signature he knew so well as his wife's. She welcomed him with a sort of mental embrace and it took all the air form Harry's lungs a moment. He melded with it, indulged his own joy with it a moment, then eased it down, pushing it into Angharad's body. She opened her eyes as it penetrated her, looking wildly around.

"Oh my…what the…what is that?…oh..oh my…oh…_fuck me…oh yes…fuck me…ohh!"_

Harry tried not to laugh as he eased this gorgeous wave of energy throughout Angharad's body. She writhed and arched and kept up with her volley of dirty words, which grew steadily more graphic as Harry passed over her waist and upper thighs. This was much easier than he'd been expecting, easier that the simplest diagnostic spell. He could sense Angharad's injuries, feel the signature of the Dolohov Curse. But as the Elixir Waves passed over it both were exterminated into non-existence. As soon as the wave had passed, it was as if they hadn't been there at all.

In fifteen minutes, it was all over.

Harry opened his eye, and looked at Hermione, who was flushed and breathing hard. He huffed. Seriously, what was _wrong_ with these women? He wasn't _that_ sexual, was he?

"Well," said Angharad, who was full of colour and had a devilish twinkle in her eyes. "That was _easily_ the best threesome I've ever had! You can come to our bed anytime. Anytime at all."

"Welcome back," Harry grinned.

Angharad looked at Hermione, who had taken hold of her hand at some point during that little jig. She pulled their joined fingers up to her face. "Is…is that a _wedding ring_?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, grinning. "Harry and I got married a couple of night's ago."

"Fuck _off_!" Angharad exclaimed. "How did I miss that?"

"You've been a bit unwell," said Hermione. "But…you're all better now?"

She framed it as a question to Harry, who nodded in response. He was in no doubt.

"Oh, well. I must have been _proper_ out of it," said Angharad. "Congrats, though. How was the wedding night? Must have been _epic_."

"I'm going to go with _legendary_," Hermione grinned.

"There were certainly aspects that had the virtue of never having been tried," Harry agreed. He winked at his wife."

"Married, well I never," said Angharad, sitting up and shaking her head. "Hey, who's coat is that jacket? Hanging up on the floor?"

"That's Fan's," said Harry. "I think she wants to move in properly. Get serious, you know?"

"Does she, now?" Angharad laughed. "One couple gets married and everyone wants a bit, is it? Well, I guess I could do worse, couldn't I? She's the best _shag_ I've ever had, that's for sure. Well, I suppose I should propose then, if she's finally decided she wants a ring on her finger. She'll never do it. Little cowardess as she is. Will you make me one, Harry? Not as posh as Mrs Potter's there, obviously, but a nice little bit of amber on a gold band would be just the thing. She goes mental for amber, does my Myfanwy."

Harry grinned and turned to Hermione. "What do you say, Mrs Potter? Would you like to watch a Master Alchemist at work? Watch him turn a base metal to pure gold?"

"That depends," said Hermione, huskily. "Will he turn _me_ to pure gold afterwards?"

Harry smirked back. "Well…I can _try_…but I'm not too sure how _pure_ the process will be…"


	16. A Death in the Family

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

"Lestrange," said Harry.

"Dolohov," Hermione insisted. Again.

"Lestrange."

"_Dolohov!"_

"Ginny Weasley."

"Deal."

Harry and Hermione Potter were sat in the large drawing room of their Blue Palace, trying to agree on who they were going to kill first on the list Hermione had made. They had borrowed some paper and a felt pen for the family activity from Celesca Lovegood, who was now sat cross-legged at Hermione's feet, doing some crayoning, in a large colouring book Enola had found for her when she was rummaging through the attic.

And it looked as if Harry had just pulled his trump card.

"Okay, we go for Ginny," Hermione agreed. "How are we going to do it?"

"I was thinking it might be fun if we can find a Cluedo set, do it that way to keep it interesting and surprising," Harry laughed.

"Ginny Weasley…on Diagon Alley…with the candlestick," Hermione considered thoughtfully. "That has merit."

"I think we should _definitely_ make it public," said Harry. "Send a message that we mean business."

"_Effing _Ginny," said Hermione, angry but still mindful of the little girl sat by her chair. "I think we should de-womb her first. It would be poetic."

"Speaking of which…what about those kids of hers?" asked Harry casually. "If they are with her…do they go, too?"

"Absolutely," said Hermione easily. "We have to wipe the stain of the Weasleys and Riddles from the face of the Earth. Two birds with one stone if we can take out those two little abominations of nature. On that note, have you contacted Dietmar about the _Africa Campaign_?"

"I did," said Harry, then he quirked a grin at his wife. "I _was_ going to use the two-way mirror I had with him…but _someone_ disintegrated it in her rage."

Hermione shrugged. "If you are expecting rueful reticence, honey, I'm afraid you are looking at the wrong witch."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry grinned. "But Didi says that we can go for a clever soft kill on Arthur and Bill. There's been an outbreak of Ebola in Sierra Leone. It'll be easy to move it over to Egypt and make it look like a natural infection without raising suspicion. He already has a team on the ground securing a sample of the virus. They'll mutate it a little, to make it incurable and faster acting, and also so that it will die with the host. I'm not sure how easy I'd sleep knowing we killed thousands of innocent Egyptians because our blood feud with the Weasleys just happened to spill over into their territory. The _country_ of Egypt hasn't wronged us, after all."

"Yet," said Hermione, darkly. "But, you know what our family motto is."

"If You're Not a Potter You're A Cunt?" Harry proffered, with a little laugh.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. Then she turned to Celesca, who was in a little world of her own and didn't seem to have heard a thing. Hermione looked at Harry and frowned. "When did the casual 'cunting' start with us? Do you remember?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know…I really don't. Maybe when we realised that the rest of the world outside of this palace are just a bunch of cunts?"

Hermione nodded as she considered it. "Yeah…I'm onside with that."

Harry hooted out a laugh. "So, yeah. Arthur and Bill should be dead by the end of the week."

"And Fleur?"

"Oh, and Fleur, of course," Harry confirmed.

"You okay with that?"

"Is she a Weasley?"

"That's an unfortunate thing she can claim, yeah," said Hermione.

"Then yeah, I'm fine," said Harry. "I see it as doing her a favour she didn't know she needed. Good job Bill's semi-werewolf blood meant he and Fleur, as a semi-magical creature herself, were incompatible for producing offspring. That might have been fraught with all sorts of moral conundrums for me."

"Let's be thankful for small miracles, then," Hermione replied.

"Mummy says _I'm _a small miracle," Celesca offered thoughtfully, from her place on the floor, still concentrating on her colouring in. "She's never said I'm a _cunt,_ though. I don't know what one of those _is_. Am I one, because I'm not a Potter? Like your family motto says?"

Harry had to get up and go to the window to laugh, because Hermione was scowling at him so furiously he felt he _ought_ to have felt guilty, but he didn't have it in him.

"No, honey, you aren't one of those," said Hermione. Harry could feel her seething at him, but he daren't turn around to face her. He was worried he might puncture a lung holding in his laughter as it was.

"What is that, though?" Celesca went on. "Shall I ask Mummy?"

"No, no…don't do that," said Hermione quickly. "It's a very bad word…and Harry and I are very bad people for using it."

"Yes, Celesca, don't say that word," said Harry, calming and turning finally. "We're really very sorry for using it. We are going to wash our mouths out with soapy water afterwards."

"You might want to think about changing your family motto, too," said Celesca considerately, turning her innocent eyes to Harry. "You don't want a bad word on it, when neither you nor Lady Potter are bad people."

"No, you're quite right," said Harry. "If you like, you can make up a new one for us. We need one."

"Ooh, can I?" asked Celesca excitedly. "I'll come up with a _really_ good one, I promise."

"Of course you can, honey," said Hermione, smiling.

"And, do you think I could _become_ a Potter then, as I'm making up the new motto?"

"You can only be a Potter if you are part of our family, sweetheart," said Hermione.

Harry threw her a warning look, and she frowned hard at him again. "And I'm pretty sure your mum doesn't want to let us adopt you. What would she do without you?"

"Ah. I see," said Celesca. Before dropping in casually, "But, when you have your baby boy, do you think I could get married to him? I'd be a Potter _then_, wouldn't I?"

Celesca looked sweetly between Harry and Hermione, completely oblivious to the nuclear bomb-level emotional devastation that she'd just unwittingly dropped between them.

"Um…well…um," Hermione tried to say, but her heart was racing a mile-a-minute it seemed. And Harry's was keeping pace with it, stride for stride. "A baby boy? W-what makes you think we'll have a baby boy?"

"Oh, I've _seen_ him," said Celesca easily. "I don't know when you're going to have him or what you're going to call him or anything like that. But I won't be _too_ much older than him, when we're old enough to get married. So I think I should be allowed to get married to him, really. Yes, I'd like that. I think he'll be a lot like Mister Harry, and I'd like my husband to be like Mister Harry. So, do you think I could? Will you let me? Marry your son, and become a Potter, I mean?"

"Well…I…er," Harry stuttered, looking to Hermione for help, but they were both utterly floored by Celesca's declarations. "Well, I don't think we can make decisions for our…for our _son_. Not without talking to him about it first. He might not want to get married to you."

"Of course he will," said Celesca confidently. "I'm going to be _very_ pretty when I get older. I've seen it. Lots of boys will try to marry me. But I think I'm going to say no to all of them, and marry _your_ son, instead. Yes, I think that would be best. There, I've decided _for_ you Lord and Lady Potter. So it isn't your fault if he doesn't want to. But that's just silly, because of course he's going to want to. Can you give him a nice name, though? I quite like _James_, and I think I'd like my husband to be called James, but you don't have to call him that if you don't want to. I wont mind _that_ much…"

Harry was reasonably sure he'd never been as gobsmacked by any single conversation in his whole life as he was with this one. It was running all his intimate conversations with Hermione close for the level of butterflies they stirred in him. And his wife was ten times _worse_ than him. It was a good job she was sat down, Harry thought, as she might have fainted if she had been standing, if her speeding heart and racing breaths were any indicator of her state of mind.

"Cesc, honey," Hermione asked breathily. "Do you _know_ all of that will happen, or are you just guessing?"

"Oh no, Lady Hermione, I _know_," said Celesca brightly, so assured that she might as well have been explaining that the sky was blue, whilst stood out on a Summer's day _under_ one. "It's all a long way away, but it will definitely happen."

Hermione's breathing stopped completely. She was still so long that Harry was on the verge of going to her, to remind her that oxygen wasn't an enemy and was sort of key to staying alive. Then she starting talking again.

"So…we…Harry and I…we're going to have…have a_ son_?" she whispered quietly.

"Oh yes," said Celesca with a soft smile. "And at least two girls, too. But that's after. I don't know how many, or if you have any more boys after them. I haven't looked that far ahead. I hope my husbands' sisters will want to be friends with me…I think I'd like that…"

Hermione span her head to Harry, beaming wildly, her eyes so bright with joy that Harry was struggling to lock his gaze onto them. It was like looking at something divine.

Which, of course, Hermione _was_ in his world.

"Looks like we're going to be busy, love," Harry quirked at her.

Hermione just smiled beautifully. She didn't trust herself to speak, because she was bound to cry if she did. And they had a bet going that she couldn't go a full week without crying one way or another. And she was _determined_ Harry wasn't going to win this one. The wager was to name Hermione's Abused Witches Centre, the first planned use of her new gold, after either of their mothers, and Hermione was _not_ going to lose on account of _this._

Though, to be fair, she could think of few better reasons she'd happily lose the bet over.

Hermione smiled at Harry. "That's a _lot_ of babies to have."

"It is," Celesca nodded as she agreed. Then she frowned, and turned on them with curious eyes. "But…Lord and Lady Potter…how _do_ you make babies…"

* * *

"Yes, yes I think this would work," said Luna, pacing around the Ritual Room. "Wow. There's a lot of power in here, isn't there?"

"Harry's been charging the space up for five years," said Neville. "All for this one purpose. So, can you do it?"

"Not on my own," said Luna. "I'll definitely need Hermione to help me. Oh, and a human sacrifice, too."

"A…a _what?"_ Neville queried, his voice wobbling.

"A sacrifice," said Luna casually. "This is advanced Necromancy, Neville. If you're going to create a portal to the Realm of the Dead, you're going to need to kill someone to open it up. It's obvious, really."

"Oh yeah, Right." Neville had baulked, the colour easing from his cheeks. "Does Harry know about that?"

"Of course," said Luna breezily. "I imagine he's going to find me the sacrifice right now. That must be what he left the palace for. I don't know why he took his Firebolt though…"

"Harry's gone? I didn't feel that," said Neville.

"You really need to stop having so much sex all the time, then," Luna smirked. "How can you expect to feel anything _else_, when you have all those sensations going on?"

Neville grinned. It was a fair point, but he wasn't about to change his current lifestyle just to babysit Harry. Besides, Harry was dangerous. He could look after himself outside the wards.

"Okay. So what do you need for this?" asked Neville.

"Well, the Veil Arch at the Department of Mysteries was made from a very special kind of stone - brimstone - and you get that by roasting slate in phoenix fire. So we'll need to get quite a bit of that."

"There are a lot of abandoned Welsh slate mines not far from here, in Blaenau. I'll get Owain onto that, he has a lot of good local contacts."

"And the phoenix fire?" asked Luna.

"I'll get Hermione to go and see how Lily - that's _Harry's _phoenix_ \- _is doing," said Neville. "She might have matured enough to produce fire by now…she had a Burning Day not long ago, but phoenixes grow up quickly."

"Okay," said Luna. "You do that. I'll have to pull my memories, to see what the exact runes and carvings were around the Veil Archway at the Ministry. Then, when we get the brimstone, we can reproduce them in that and start the building process."

"And the Veil itself?" asked Neville. "How will that get there?"

"Well, the necromantic spells we'll have to use are pretty powerful," Luna explained. "You have to understand, Neville…we'll be ripping a hole in the very _fabric_ of life…in order to reach the Realm of the Dead. We will have to take a life, in order to produce an energy release potent enough to do that, and when their soul crosses over to the other side, the portal they use will be forced to stay open by the enchantments on the Archway. The spells will summon forces from _beyond_ the portal, too…making the gateway energised enough for us to trap it in the _open_ position."

"Sweet mother of Merlin!" Neville gasped. "This sounds horrific!"

"Oh it is," said Luna, darkly. "It really is. But if this is how Harry intends to guarantee Tom Riddle never returns, it's really the only way."

"What _does_ he intend to do? Has he told you?"

Luna nodded. "He had to. And my little girl has seen how it happens, too. Harry's going to ask his dead ancestors to pull Riddle through and trap him on the other side. Don't ask me how that works, that's a secret Harry hasn't even shared with Hermione yet. But he need us to build the portal that's going allow him to do it, so that's what we are going to to."

"And little Celesca has _seen_ all this?" asked Neville. "She's told you it definitely happens?"

"Yes, and she was quite certain," said Luna, casually. "She didn't _want_ to tell me for the longest time because, apparently, I _was_ going to be killed when the portal was opened."

"What the fuck?" Neville blurted out. "What do you mean _killed?"_

"Yes, I was rather distressed about that, too," said Luna thoughtfully, grinning at Neville's horrorstruck expression. "Apparently, Harry's original plan was always to kill Ginny Weasley for the ritual, only when he cast _her_ through the portal, she somehow reached out and grabbed me, taking me with her."

"Fuck me! But that's _not_ going to happen now?" Neville breathed.

"No, apparently not," Luna smiled. "And I'm going to have a very long life and a number of grandchildren, so Celesca says."

"Wow," said Neville. "I mean..wow. So…the future…it can just _change_ like that? Even if Celesca has seen it one way already?"

"Oh yes, so she says," Luna replied. "It's really very confusing to _me_, but she's never distressed by it. Sometimes, it looks like one thing is going to happen, and then a decision is made that changes it. But the outcomes tend to remain the same. I mean, in Cesc's original vision, I was killed opening the portal, but now I'm not. But the portal still gets built and opened and Harry sends Riddle through it later. That's the main thing, and that sort of stuff doesn't seem to change. It's like Point A and Point B remain constant, but it's the journey between them that changes."

"Wow," said Neville. He took a seat on the edge of the circular dais at the heart of the room to gather his thoughts. "Do you find it…_weird?_ You know…Celesca's _gift?"_

"I can't say I notice it much these days," said Luna, joining Neville and conjuring them a pitcher of fruit juice to share. "It's just one of those things. I've gotten used to it."

"Does she talk about it much, or things she's seen?" asked Neville.

"No, not as much as you'd probably think," said Luna. "You can see how chatty she is, now she's settled and relaxed with everyone, just like a normal little witch, really. Every now and then she'll just come out with something at random, but by and large she keeps it to herself. I can't blame her…she must have seen some pretty horrendous things."

"You being killed by Ginny Weasley must rank up at the top of that!" said Neville.

Luna nodded sadly. "But I imagine she could look forward in time to see how _everyone_ dies, if she wanted to. That can't be nice for her. And some visions just _come_ to her, especially when she sleeps. She once told me that _all_ of her dreams were actually real. Visions and prophecies and things. Not having any control over that part of it doesn't make it seem very much like a _gift_, if you ask me. I don't think it's something _I'd_ want."

"No, I didn't think of it like that," said Neville. "Poor little thing. So, if Harry isn't going use Ginny to open the portal, who _is_ he going to use?"

"I don't know, and I'm not asking Cesc to look for me," said Luna. "I'm not going to ask my five-year-old daughter to witness a murder, just to quench my own curiosity. We'll all find out soon enough, anyway."

Neville nodded. "I can't imagine Harry and Hermione will just give Ginny a free pass, though. They must have plans for her, too…I just hope they are _brutal_."

"That's one thing Cesc did say…that the lady with the long black hair is very bad, and has done something very horrible to Hermione's mum."

"Hermione's _mum_?" Neville queried. "How can she have done anything to _her_? She's been dead a good few years."

"I don't know, but Cesc seemed _very_ afraid of Ginny, petrified I'd say, for whatever it was she did to Mrs Granger," said Luna. "Don't tell Hermione I said anything, though. I'm sure she doesn't know anything about it."

"Does Harry?"

"I can only imagine he _does_," said Luna, evenly. "I mean…it's _Harry Potter_…what _doesn't_ he know about? Especially where his _wife_ is concerned."

Neville was concerned enough as it was, by this disturbing little tale, but he couldn't help but grin at the mention of Harry and Hermione's newly wedded status.

"It's so great, isn't it? Harry and Hermione, I mean." he grinned.

"It really is," Luna agreed with a beaming smile. "Hermione is so happy. I've never seen her like this. It suits her."

"Yeah, it definitely does," Neville nodded. "Lu…how was she? I mean, you know…_before_?"

"When she was married to Ronald, you mean?"

"Yeah….back then."

"You know, Harry asked me the very same thing," said Luna. "And, as I told _him_…you wouldn't _recognise_ the girl he married as the same person she was then. It was the worst in the middle of it, the last two years or so. She was always in so much _pain_…all the time. Ronald was hurting her, we all knew that, but she never said or complained about it.

"Sue Bones did, all the time, about her own abusive husband. But Hermione always kept quiet about how bad things were for_ her_ at home, and she was having just as bad a time as Sue. Worse, probably, because Ronald had the favour of Tom Riddle to justify with his own domestic violence. I think Hermione was just trying to stay strong, put on a brave face, for all of us. She didn't want us to know she was suffering just as much as the rest of us were."

"But _you_ weren't suffering," Neville pointed out. "You didn't have some arsehole wizard smashing you up all the time, like Min and Sue did."

"No…I didn't. You're right," said Luna quietly. "But I'd been repeatedly raped by a man, a man who was later melded with a kimodo dragon, and then I had his baby, a baby that I had to give up and pretend, for the first three years of her life, wasn't my daughter, for her own safety. And she knew the entire time, and had to wonder why I was pretending, maybe thinking I didn't want her, and I couldn't even tell her how wrong she was and that she was the love of my life. So, no, I wasn't beaten up, like Hermione and Susan, but I was tortured _every single day_ inside, in my heart."

Neville swallowed hard. Searing, marrow-level shame and pity surged through him.

"Luna…I'm so sorry…I didn't think…"

"It's all right," said Luna brightly. "You didn't do any of that. It's not your fault."

"No…but what I said…that was so horrendously thoughtless of me. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Don't be, I know what you meant," said Luna, smiling softly. "But, what you all take for granted a bit here, is that Harry gave you somewhere safe to live, in this palace. Everyone _not_ in here suffered in some way, and they are still suffering out there now. That's why what Harry is doing is so important, and why I don't mind doing a bit of Dark Necromancy to help him. My Cesc is worth the sacrifice. I do it gladly."

Neville was roused by Luna's doughtiness. She was a fierce little warrior when she put her mind to it.

"Right then, let's get to work," said Neville standing. "I'll go to Owain and Hermione, you go and pull those memories of yours."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan."

"Oh, and Luna…"

"Yes?"

Neville stepped close and drew her into a powerful hug. She slipped her arms around him and embraced him deeply in return.

"I'm so sorry we didn't come for you sooner. Forgive us."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Luna. "You all saved my daughter's life. I can never show you enough gratitude for _that_."

They stood hugging for several minutes, drawing determination from one another. One thing was for sure, however he was going to do it, Neville couldn't wait for the day he'd get to see Harry Potter_ exterminate_ Tom Riddle…he couldn't fucking _wait_.

* * *

"The problem we really have is this bloody lost Horcrux," said Hermione, bitterly. "Whatever happens with this portal - and even Harry killing Tom Riddle…if that Horcrux is still out there, he can just come back again."

"Well, let's consider what we know about it," said Frank Longbottom, standing and pacing the room. The other members of Harry's inner circle, as well as Enola and Hermione, watched him intently. "We know it's Gryffindor's Seal - a sigil medallion Godric used to lock in his power to the foundations of Hogwarts. And we also know that Riddle has placed it around the neck of a reanimated Dumbledore."

"Not just Dumbledore, but the vision of Dumbledore that Riddle was so afraid of, made flesh," Neville pointed out. "Any else feeling as joyous as me about our prospects?"

"You need to drop the negativity," said Hermione, sternly.

"Sorry, Hermione, I just can't see how any of us can beat the Dumbledore zombie," Neville returned. "Even _Harry_ couldn't touch him."

"If a wizard is convinced he's going to die tomorrow, he'll probably find a way to make it happen," Hermione volleyed back. "I have every faith in my husband. He's promised me he'll beat Dumbledore…and he knows how cross I'll be with him if he breaks his word!"

There was a smattering of laughter around the table, and Enola gave Hermione an encouraging wink.

"The way I see it, is that we can help Harry _before_ he faces Dumbledore again," said Hermione. "We simply have to reduce him to _just_ Dumbledore…not Dumbledore _plus_."

"How?" asked Lord Angus Kelvin. "And besides, Dumbledore was stupendously powerful when he was alive. What makes you so sure that Harry could even beat _just_ _him?"_

Hermione gave Lord Kelvin a stern, old fashioned look. "Because, Lord Kelvin, my husband is _Harry_ _Potter_, descendent of Gryffindor, of Peverell, of fucking Merlin himself! If I say he can beat Dumbledore, he can. _And_ if I tell him I'd actually be rather pleased and proud of him if he _did_…I have every faith that he'd step right out of the door that instant and have it done for me before supper!"

Enola choked out a laugh, which may have contained a hidden _luckiest witch alive_ somewhere within it. Hermione just grinned at her.

"So, Lady Potter," said Patrick O'Brien, as Lord Kelvin proffered a mumbled apology. "You were about to regale us with you plan to reduce Rolls-Royce Dumbledore to Ford Mondeo Dumbledore."

"Ah yes," Hermione went on, grinning at the Irish Tuatha De Danaan chieftain. "What Harry told me is that the Horcrux, Riddle's last one, is being _powered_ by four other sources of protection. He said it was as if the Horcrux was at the centre of a spiders' web of interconnecting energies."

"So you think," said Frank, nodding as he spoke. "That if we can cut the web to pieces…"

"We can cut the power to Dumbledore," said Patrick. "I like your thinking, Lady Potter."

"Question is," said Neville. "Where are the other power sources?"

Hermione swallowed hard. Neville narrowed his eyes at her, Enola looked suddenly fearful.

"What is it you think, Min?" asked Enola quietly.

"You will address Lady Potter by her proper title," said Sir David Pincott sternly, frowning at Enola, who cowered back from his stare.

Hermione shot Sir David a blazing look. "Enola is my best friend and my Lady-In-Waiting. She can call me whatever she likes. Well, within reason."

She winked at Enola, who grinned back.

"Forgive me, my Lady," said Sir David, bowing respectfully.

"Better," said Hermione. "As I was about to say, _Lady_ Longbottom," said Hermione, glowering at Sir David just because she could. "I've been giving this a _lot_ of thought. And there's only one common theme I can find that links the Horcrux protections."

"Which is?"

"They are _all_ about _Harry_," said Hermione. She waited a moment for the impact to settle.

"What do you mean?" asked Neville.

"Harry and I were talking about this," said Hermione. "Tom Riddle _knew_ that Harry was still alive. So, he must have expected that, at some stage, Harry would come back to resume the fight against him. And he knew that we'd been hunting his other Horcruxes, destroyed most of them, even. He knew that _we_ knew his weakness. So, what I think, is that in order to protect his last one, he designed its defences with the only _real_ threat against it in mind."

"Harry!" Enola exclaimed.

Hermione nodded. "I don't think it's a coincidence that Riddle chose Dumbledore as the physical protector of his Horcrux. Not just because of his power, but also because of his connection to Harry. They had a personal relationship that went way beyond Headmaster and student. They _loved_ each other…Harry still _does_ love Dumbledore, I know he does, even if he can never forgive him for how he acted in his life. I can't forgive him either, and I _actually_ hate Dumbledore for what he did to my Harry. But I never had that close personal link to Dumbledore, not like Harry did."

"Ah, I get it now!" said Neville, coming up to speed. "You think Riddle chose Dumbledore because Harry wouldn't _fight_ him properly, because of his love for him? Maybe wouldn't have it in him to totally destroy Dumbledore, even in a zombie form?"

Hermione nodded.

"So…you think the other three will be the same?" asked Enola. Hermione nodded, keeping her expression neutral. It didn't fool Enola, who cried out in dismayed anguish. "_You!_ You think _you're_ one of the protections?"

"Oh, _no, _Hermione!" Neville cried, his voice pounding with emotion. "Why do you think _that_?"

"Harry said Ron had Riddle curse me in person," said Hermione. "He had ample opportunity to redirect my power to his Horcrux, maybe even by hacking into my marriage bond to Ron. He's a cunt, he would have given me over to Riddle gladly."

"Oh, for _fucks sake_!" Neville shouted.

"No, no, _no!_" Enola howled, banging the desk as tears streamed down her face. "No, Min…just _no."_

Hermione quirked an odd little grin at Enola. She really was a bitch, but she just couldn't resist this. Seriously, Harry was such a _terrible_ influence on her…

"Why are you crying?" she asked, biting her lip to keep a laugh in at her best friends _utter _despair.

"_Why am I crying!"_ Enola shrieked. "_Why?_ Because you've been cursed and the only way to _cut the power_ will be to…will be to…oh, _Min_…! I can't even _say _it!"

"Say what?"

"Will be to _kill_ you!"

"Now why on _Earth_ would I let anyone do _that_?" Hermione asked, her eyes twinkling with humour as she twirled her wedding ring pointedly. "I've just married my _soul mate_…do you honestly think I'd let anyone kill me…or that _he_ would?"

Enola stopped crying and looked at Hermione, getting crosser by the minute. "Min…whatever you're going to say, say it…before I decide which hex to use on you for being so _cruel_!"

Hermione gave in and howled with laughter. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, hun. I couldn't help myself. But, rest assured, I'm quite safe and I plan to stay quite _alive, _too, so that I can enjoy my husband for a long time yet."

Neville chuckled. "The maintainence elves will be _thrilled_ to hear it! They'll be replacing ceilings for the rest of their natural lives."

"Good job they live several hundred years, then," said Hermione, winking at Neville.

"I'm just totally confused," Enola cried, throwing up her hands in protest.

"It's like this," said Hermione. "I _was_ a part of the Horcrux protection…but Harry and I have _broken_ the link. It's _one down_."

Enola's eyes suddenly lit up. "But how?"

"Riddle made me part of the protection, I _definitely_ would have been one of the four," said Hermione. "Ron always knew I had feelings for Harry, even when we were kids, even if he never knew the fucking half of it. And he exposed me to Riddle, who found that I had warded _myself_ against loving Harry, because it was so powerful that I was afraid of it.

"So Riddle would have seen that as a defence mechanism. Harry would never, in any way, hurt me. When _Riddle_ tried to hurt me, Harry's love for me gave me an innate protection against him. It leapt to my defence, even though Harry hadn't seen me for years. It defended me, even when I didn't know I was under attack…almost to the point of my death. It knew death was preferable to being a slave to Riddle for eternity. There are far worse things in life than death…and that is _totally_ one of those things."

"Luckiest. Fucking. Witch. Ever," Enola huffed. "Nev…up your game, hun. Or else."

Hermione hooted with laughter. "Look, Ennie, you get the ultimate _body,_ I get the ultimate husband. You should be happy with that."

"But I'm selfish. I want it _all_."

"I am still here, you know?" said Neville, frowning. "Hello! _Right here!_ You whoooo!_"_

Enola grinned and winked at him.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Hermione continued. "Riddle picked me, for the same reason he picked Dumbledore. He thought Harry wouldn't fight or hurt me. Which is totally spot on. What he _didn't _account for is Harry's _saving-me-thing_."

"_Righttt!_" Neville exclaimed, triumphantly. "Harry took all your pains, all your curses…including that one!"

"Yep," Hermione grinned. "It must have been tied to my Marriage Bond to Ron. That's why I didn't detect it. The Bond made me sick enough as it was, what was an extra little bit of darkness on top of it? But Harry knew. He must have. He said he always went crazy when he was around any part of Riddle or his soul. I don't think it was coincidence I drove him as angry as I did happy."

"But how did the link break?" asked Enola.

"The morning of the wedding," said Hermione. I was with Luna and little Cesc in Harry's alchemy cell. It's where his power is most concentrated, I think. Even more so than the Ritual Room, probably. And I was carrying him _inside _me…and when I saw the wedding ring he'd made for me…"

Hermione stopped and just stared fondly at it a moment. It was really so beautiful.

"I just went _mental_," said Hermione. "I wanted, more than _anything_ in the world, to be able to get married to Harry. I wanted it so much, I actually think I _hated_ Ron as much as I _loved_ Harry in that moment. It was probably the first time the emotions were on the same level. But I think I was channelling Harry from _inside_ myself…he joined to my emotion, linked with it, made it more powerful…powerful enough to snap the old ring and break my Marriage Bond."

"And thus breaking your power feed to Riddle's Horcrux!" cried Frank Longbottom.

"That's what I think," said Hermione, nodding. "And I know Harry thinks it, too, because I've _heard_ him thinking it."

"Now what in the world does _that_ mean?" asked Patrick.

"Ever since our marriage, Harry and I have become…well…_intimate_," Hermione explained.

"Well, we all know _that_," Patrick quirked. "We'll be replacing the timbers in the fifth floor roof from now until New Years!"

Hermione blushed. "I didn't mean like _that. _But thank you all for making sure we all still have somewhere to live. Harry and I will try to be…_calmer…_in the future."

"No, you wont!" Enola scoffed good-naturedly.

"No…we really wont!" Hermione laughed in agreement. "But I thought I ought to say that we'd consider it…even if we throw it out as a bad job after just a second or two!"

"So, you were saying…about your new intimacy," Frank prompted.

"Yes, well, it's really quite bizarre," said Hermione. "But, as an after effect of our alchemical wedding, I can hear Harry's _thoughts_. Like they are in my own head."

"_What!" _cried Enola, her eyes popping open in surprise. "You never told me _that!_"

"I'm telling you now," Hermione grinned. "I seem to be able to read Harry's thoughts. Literally word for word. And _he_ seems to be able to feel my emotions, in his own body. It's such a beautiful thing, really."

"Right, that's it!" Enola huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Monday morning, Nev, you're going to Diagon Alley and buying an alchemy kit and some textbooks. I don't _care_ how many Death Eaters might attack you on the way. We are _so_ having one of these _alchemical weddings_. This is just not _fair!"_

Hermione exploded with laughter, and her giggles got worse the more pronounced Enola's pouty frown became.

"So," Frank tried vainly again. "You've heard Harry thinking the same thing, about your connection to Riddle?"

"I have," said Hermione. "And Harry…he's so cute…but so clueless. He _knows _I can read his mind, but he _forgets_ that I can every five minutes or so. Here's a heads up for you all - if Harry goes _really_ quiet, it's not because he's come over all shy or he's just being grumpy, he's actually _thinking…_really hard. He's _always_ thinking. He puts _me_ to shame on that score.

"And he does a _lot _of thinking about looking after _me. _It's adorable, it really is, but Harry thinks he's protecting me by not telling me some of his worst fears about me, which worked until about a week ago, when I married him and gained access to his mind. Now, I know everything he suspects. He doesn't _know_ that I know, and it's really funny, and unbearably sweet, to watch him debate the conundrum with himself.

"But, I would guess seven out of ten thoughts of his are about threats to me, and how best to protect me from them. Two thoughts are then assorted things he'd like to do to me in the bedroom, which I then add to my to-do-list, and there's one thought about what he might want for dinner."

Even Enola laughed at that, despite her determination to be pouty and cross with the world.

"Then, the other day, I heard Harry think to himself that he couldn't feel Riddle inside me anymore," said Hermione. "So I can extrapolate from that that he _did_ feel him there before, but now he's gone. And he thought about why he would have been there in the first place, made the jump to me being a Horcrux protector, then went crazily happily when he realised we'd broken one of the power links, because Riddle's signature in me has gone."

"That's a hell of a lot of things to think," said Enola. "What exactly were you doing when Harry thought all this?"

Hermione smiled. "Harry was spooning me as I pretended to sleep. He just stays up for hours and holds me, when he thinks I don't know. Don't tell him I said this, but he likes nothing more than to just hug me and look at me. I think he's a bit needy, and draws a lot of strength from cuddling me," she blushed furiously, and Enola swooned in spite of herself. "But he was thinking about all the ways he'd protect me, had a five minute spell of self-hate for all my hurt - that he blames on himself - which he does a lot, and then he just thought how badly he was going to rip Tom Riddle's limbs off by hand, for threatening me, and that led to him realising Riddle's signature had left me. And he just went wildly happy and cwtched me like it was going out of fashion."

"Qootched?" Lord Kelvin queried.

"Cuddled, like _really_ tenderly," Enola explained. "Hermione's been hanging around with us Welshies too long. She's picking up the lingo now!"

"Ah. I see," said Lord Kelvin, averting his eyes modestly from the conversation.

"So, moral of the story," said Hermione. "Is that Tom Riddle has protected his Horcruxes with things he thinks Harry won't be able to destroy."

"Like Dumbledore and you," Neville nodded. "Clever really, isn't it, when you think about it?"

"I think I'd go with _sinister_, or cruel, babe," said Enola, quirking an eyebrow at her husband. "Not _clever."_

"I quite like _cunty_," said Hermione, thoughtfully.

"Or cunty," Neville agreed, grinning at Hermione.

"Whatever it is, it's a _fundamental_ mistake," said Hermione, staunchly. "Because he's not just fighting one Potter now…he's fighting _two_. His battle has always been against Harry _personally,_ and now it's against _me_ personally, too. Or, more accurately, me and Harry as a unified _pair_, because our alchemical marriage has joined us, quite literally, as _one._

"Don't pout again, Enola, the wind will change and your pretty face will get stuck that way!

"Tom Riddle has put defences up against Harry _specifically_, but he's underestimated how much I love my husband. He tried to use that against us, but I think we can find a way to use it to ultimately beat _him_."

"How?"

"I'm still working on that bit," said Hermione. "And so is Harry. He'll make the links we need eventually. But, whatever happens, if Harry comes up against the other power links…and they are so dear to him that he doesn't have the heart to destroy them…"

"You'll step in…and do it for him," Enola finished, darkly. She exchanged a look of brutally vicious understanding with Hermione, and nodded her head in great reverence to her Queen's stout determination.

Hermione looked sternly, resolutely at them all. "You'd better fucking believe I will. All of you. _Nobody_ threatens or hurts my husband, my soul mate, my Harry. Not any more. Anyone who thinks of trying had better find a different plane of fucking existence in which to escape from me. Because I'll chase them round the pyramids of Giza, through the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and around the fucking flames of almighty _Hell_ before I give them up!"

* * *

Harry threw up his umbrella against the rain and walked through the large quad just outside the Sheldon Building. He stopped a moment to admire the vista. The lights of Oxford blinked though the drizzly twilight of the evening, a thousand splendid spires at this seat of Muggle learning power.

And he allowed himself a moment to think.

And _all _he could think about was his _son_. It sent him wildly nuts just to entertain the idea. He couldn't hold the notion at all steady in his mind for more than a few seconds, before it threatened to drive him to distraction. A son, a little boy…suggested by his father, confirmed and fleshed out by Celesca - who had all but made herself Harry's daughter-in-law of her own volition.

Harry didn't think this was such a bad development, actually. It might have put a pause on Hermione's kidnap plans for the adorable little Seer, several of which had reached a significantly advanced stage of progress by now. Harry chuckled to himself as he thought of that. Poor Hermione…what a conflict it must be for her! Kidnap Celesca and make her their daughter on the one hand, versus denying their unborn first son the wife of his dreams on the other.

Even if little Celesca _did_ say so herself!

Harry continued to chortle to himself as the rains came down a little harder. He pulled his jacket tight and moved off again, his thoughts firmly fixed on his future family. A son, two daughters, a black and white kneazle kitten called Mimi…all with the love of his life by his side at the top of it…it was picture postcard perfect.

And it seemed a small thing, just then, to burn down the world to make it happen.

And tonight was when Harry would begin to truly light the touch-paper.

He'd been out here for three days. He missed Hermione terribly, but he'd left her in charge of everything back home and there was so much to do. He had no interest in taking a curse, so he was in a shoot-on-sight sort of mode. But, so far, he'd not come across much danger. Which concerned him. It meant they were up to something, plotting and scheming in the quiet. It was too quiet, Harry didn't like that.

For Tom Riddle was a loud, showy bell-end. If he'd gone quiet, it meant something loud and showy was on the horizon.

So Harry was going to strike first. And second. For his plan was two-pronged. The first part involved this little jaunt to Oxford. He had set up a clandestine meeting with two of his insiders and he hoped they'd come through for him. There were no guarantees these days. The Death Eaters had clamped down hard in recent weeks.

They'd publicly executed Jimmy Peakes just a few days ago, which Harry had been gutted to learn about. He'd always been a reliable wizard, tough and gnarly, but worldly. To lose him was a blow, but Harry knew he'd had a death wish since the demise of his close mate, Ernie MacMillan. Jimmy had never forgiven himself, for not being there, the night Malfoy had butchered MacMillan, and it was only a matter of time before he martyred himself for the cause.

At least he'd sonorus-charmed his voice and shouted '_Harry Potter Lives',_ while he was being burned at the stake on Diagon Alley…even the _Daily Prophet_ couldn't cover that one up.

But Harry didn't have time to mourn fallen foot soldiers just now. They would all be vaunted and honoured when Harry delivered Total Victory. For that was all he'd accept now. It was all Hermione's fault, really. She'd been so vitriolic about totally annihilating the Weasleys that Harry thought - _fuck it_, _let's roll that idea out to ALL Death Eater families._ He hadn't expected her to be onboard with that idea in the slightest…

The fact that she _was_ honestly made him jizz a little in his boxers. Her unapologetic, fighting fury was just the _hottest_ thing…

Their kids…Merlin, _alive_! _Honestly!_ Would there be a more powerfully protected set of children in the history of the world, than the babies of Harry and Hermione Potter?

Harry rather imagined that there couldn't _possibly_ have been. They would have the _world_ as their playground. They could come to _school _in one of the great colleges Harry was surrounded by tonight, if they so wanted. They'd certainly be clever enough, with Hermione's brainpower passed on to them. He wondered vaguely which one they'd go to - Balliol, Trinity, Magdalen. He was overflowing with pride just _fantasising_ about that. What would he be like when it _actually_ happened?

Because it was _so_ going to happen. And Harry didn't give a flying fuck how people he had to kill to make sure of that.

But, one death at a time. That's why he was here. A little bit of intel…two names, two locations, two cold-blooded murders to commit.

And, if Arthur and Bill were already dead, just one Weasley left in Britain by breakfast time on Monday.

Harry arrived at his meeting point, and took out his newspaper, the agreed-on signal to his comrades. He must have looked quite odd, getting sodden while reading _The Times _in the shadow of the jaw-droppingly impressive Radcliffe Camera building. He was only waiting a minute, though, as the doors to the building opened and two figures emerged, arm-in-arm like a couple of sweethearts taking a light night stroll in the inclement weather of a standard British evening.

"Potter, good to see you," said the man as they met, his deep Scottish brogue chiselled and gritty.

"You, too, Oliver," said Harry, shaking the hand of his one-time Hogwarts Quidditch Captain. Harry turned to the girl as they started to walk to a more secluded spot. "Miss Midgeon, good to see you are still alive."

"Only because of Olly, here," said Eloise, pushing back her wet fringe. "Married me last year. So it's _Mrs Wood_, actually. Kept me out of the hands of the Muggleborn Registration Commission, and I thought that was a good enough reason to fall in love with him! I…I have to say…sorry…if I seem surprised, it's just…_Harry Potter…_actually _alive_. Olly told me but…"

"Seeing is believing?" Harry chortled.

"Something like that," Eloise blushed.

"What you're doing is very brave," said Harry. "I know the risks you're taking. Don't do anything too dangerous, though. Be sensible. I intend this all to be over very soon. I don't want any more unnecessary deaths."

"You heard about Peakes?" Oliver queried.

"Yeah," Harry spat. "Damned shame, that."

"Then lets hope _this_ can help you make amends."

Oliver Wood slipped Harry a stone tablet.

"It's encoded, but I know you'll be able to read it," said Oliver. "It's the entire rotational pattern of the airborne division you asked for - barracks, personnel, the lot. The Air Marshall's private schedule is also on there."

Harry scowled angrily, his fist clenching around the stone. "Where is he? Now? Tonight?

"The Broom Assault Corps Headquarters. Just outside Wolverhampton."

Harry ground his jaw fiercely. He was going to kill a _lot_ of flying vermin tonight.

"And…the _other_?" he asked.

Eloise turned her eyes on him. "Miss Weasley…my _lady_…will be in Diagon Alley on Sunday night. There is a performance of _A Tale of Two Cities_ at the Palladium there."

Harry sighed and closed his eye. Then began to recite dramatically. "_It is a far, far better thing I do now, than I have ever done…a far better resting place…that I SEND that dirty cunt to…then she has ever deserved to know…"_

"I don't think they are the words, Potter," Oliver smirked.

"I know, but I like my version better," Harry grinned. "Maybe I'll petition for a change in the text!"

"Potter…I understand there will be a _lot_ of the Death Eaters and their families attending the Palladium on Sunday…it's some sort of _celebration_…" said Oliver, darkly.

Harry met his eye and understanding flared. And Harry made a decision.

"Tell everyone you trust…stay away from The Alley on Sunday," said Harry dangerously. "Tell anyone you _don't _like to get tickets for the show…it promises to be an _explosive_ performance…"

* * *

Hermione looked up at Luna's creation, and shivered at the flashback crossing her mind. Harry…stood on the verge…talking to Luna about hearing voices…nearly stepping through…

She shook the memory off, but it was hard. Luna's recreation of the Veil Archway at the Ministry was startlingly accurate. It was a near-perfect replica. It should have been, as Luna's memory was standing and swirling from Harry's personal Pensieve, perched next to them as a reference point.

"There, I think that should do it," said Luna, standing back with her hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork.

"It's very good, Luna," said Hermione, stroking Lily's crown, as the phoenix trilled in contentment on her arm. "All in all, I think yours is _prettier_ than the one at the Department of Mysteries."

Luna beamed at her. "Me, _too!_"

"All we need now is a ritual sacrifice to open the door!"

"You seem awfully calm about all this," said Luna. "I didn't think you'd be so all right…you know…going so _Dark_."

"I don't see it as going Dark," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "These are evil people we're fighting. I know I shouldn't be so arrogant as to presume I can deal out death and judgement…but these bastards are threatening the people I love. Harry, you, Ennie, Nev, little Cesc…everyone. So…_fuck them_. They made their bed, me and Harry are going to put them to sleep in it. Permanently."

Luna laughed at that. "You are so _bad,_ Hermione! I'd have never seen it coming from you."

"Well, I suppose we are all the products of our environment," Hermione replied sniffily. "At Hogwarts, I was surrounded by academia. For the last few years, I've been surrounded by abuse, violence and death. It's not _my_ fault that I'm so accomplished at _both_!"

"Harry just thrills about it, that you are, I mean," said Luna, grinning. "Celesca told me. She is bowled over by Harry's love for you. She's got a little crush on him, I think. Well, as far as a five-year-old can _have_ a crush. It's '_Mister Harry did this,' _and ,'_Mister Harry said that'_. I'd say you'd have a rival if she was a bit older."

"And she's going to be quite beautiful, too, she told us," Hermione quirked back. "It's a good job she'd going to marry my _son_, otherwise I might to keep a serious eye on her!"

Luna laughed again. "Yes, she was telling me all about that. She's quite excited about it, you know. She was talking with Enola about wedding dresses and flower arrangements at dinner!"

"Oh sweet Merlin," Hermione laughed. "My poor son! I suppose I'd better call him _James_, then…my _daughter-in-law_ might never let me hear the end of it if I don't!"

Both women fell back laughing and sat down on the dais of the Ritual Room.

"_James_ wouldn't be so bad, actually," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "Harry's middle name…his _father's_ name…pretty much makes sense from that point of view."

"Well, Cesc will be happy," said Luna, smiling. "I imagine she'll be calling herself _Celesca Potter_ by the end of the week. Give it a month and she'll have set a date!"

"I'll keep my calender free for the next twenty years, then," said Hermione, seriously. "At least we know we're all going to _make it_ till then. Would you have believed that six months ago, Lu? That we'd be sat here plotting ritual human sacrifice to protect our families?"

"No…not even _I'm_ that dreamy!" Luna replied with a chuckle. "Me with my daughter…you…_married_ to _Harry Potter_…we've come a long way."

"And it's time to go a step further," said Hermione standing and taking a steeling breath. She closed her eyes as the energies of the room shifted around her, as she felt the wards open and close. "Harry's home."

Lily burst into song again, and Hermione felt the very note quaver deep in her bones, empowering her. A minute later and the door to the Ritual Room was opened with a little kick. Harry strode in…and he wasn't alone. He was dragging a body roughly behind him. He threw it unceremoniously at the altar at the centre of the room, and Hermione flicked her wand, to bind the body to it with thick ropes.

Then she clobbered Harry with a powerful bear-hug and drove her tongue into his mouth, while sucking his own into hers with obscene passion, where it stayed for a full minute, while Luna stood by awkwardly and watched, as potent sexual passion surged around the room with a resonating throb.

"You're late," said Hermione breathily, as they finally pulled apart.

"Sorry, traffic was _terrible_," Harry grinned back.

"Did you get hurt at all?"

"Only my pride," said Harry. "Bat Bogey Hex...I mean...the _shame_ of it...don't tell Neville...he'll not let me live that down a for a month!"

Hermione laughed. "Well? Luna and I had an Arts and Crafts day. What do you think?"

Harry looked appraisingly at the Arch and nodded his approval. "It looks perfect, just one thing left to do."

He cast a dispassionate look at the body behind him, which was groaning slightly. Then he turned to Luna.

"Everything's as we discussed?" he asked. She nodded her confirmation. "Good. Thanks, Luna. You've done _brilliantly_. Your work is done here for tonight. Go to Celesca…there's going to be some seriously powerful magic pumping around the palace tonight…_horrible_, powerful magic. The Ritual Room wont contain the _feel_ of it…distract her…as best you can…she doesn't need to see this…and she'll be too curious to not look once she knows…"

"I'll keep her occupied till it's done," said Luna. Then she leant up to kiss Harry on the cheek. He was so surprised, he forgot that he didn't let anyone but Hermione that close to him physically. "I'm glad you're home, Harry."

And Luna slipped from the room, eyeing the sacrificial lamb as she went.

Harry turned to Hermione and sighed. He started to think, Hermione heard him, and cut him off abruptly.

"Now, I know you weren't _seriously_ about to ask me to _leave_, were you?" she smirked at him. "_Honestly,_ Harry!"

"You don't need to be here," said Harry solemnly. "You don't need to see…to see what I have to do."

"No, you're quite right," Hermione agreed. "I _also_ don't have to commit ritual _murder _with you, but I'm going to. And if you try to argue, I'll disable you and do it on my own!"

"When did you become so _bad?_" Harry grinned at her. Hermione just shrugged. "Well, it's the _hottest_ fucking thing. Just saying."

"Good," said Hermione, her tone dropping vampishly. "Then let's get this dirty work over with…and get to some _other_ dirty work up in our bed! You haven't fucked me in _days!_ I'm not letting _that_ happen again, civil war or not. I'm so horny I'm more devil than, well, _the Devil!_"

"Fuck dot me," said Harry. "Your mouth…wow."

"That's ironic, that, because you'll be saying _exactly the same_ thing later, when it's clamped around your cock!" said Hermione. "Now, what's this present you've brought me?"

"Oh, this little thing?" said Harry, cancelling Hermione's binding spell and summoning the body to his feet. "Well, I think you'll like this."

The body skidded to a halt and Harry's foot _accidentally_ jerked out and kicked it in the face. It didn't make much of a difference. Harry had slashed and cut it to ribbons already.

"I had to cut out his eyes," said Harry apologetically, grabbing a fistful of hair and jerking up the head, to show his wife his handiwork. She nodded approvingly. "I left a little note for Old Tom, see, to tell him I was watching him. Or was it that I'd see him soon? I can't remember, actually. I thought the eyeballs were a pretty cool piece of window dressing, though, whatever it was I said."

"Definitely," said Hermione, grinning. "You're got such an _artistic_ touch. Who knew?"

"Certainly not _me," _said Harry. "But I wanted you to be proud of me."

"I'm _always_ proud of you," said Hermione. She captured his tongue in her lips again, moaning against his mouth. "Harry…don't drag this out. I _want_ you…actually, it's more a _need_. I'm aching for you to be inside me. Don't play with your food…just play with _me."_

"Fuck me!" Harry whimpered, adjusting his throbbing groin.

"Well…that's sort of the _idea,_" Hermione breathed rabidly.

"Don't you want to know who this poor cunt _is_, though?" asked Harry, kicking the prone body across to the Archway. He raised his wand and threw a powerful blasting curse at his legs, shattering them into pieces. He wasn't going _anywhere_.

"Will it make me hotter for you to know?" asked Hermione.

"It _might_."

"Give me a clue then."

"Okay," said Harry. "You said you're proud of me, yeah?"

"Covetously proud," Hermione confirmed.

"You never really _liked_ Quidditch though, did you?"

"No, not really," said Hermione. "I liked to watch _you_, but that was about it. I wouldn't have gone to any matches you weren't playing in."

"And did you think I was any good?" asked Harry.

"Harry - you were the _best," _said Hermione. "And you know it."

"Yeah, _I_ know it…but not all of Gryffindor did," said Harry patiently. "There was that one Thestral-botherer that people said was _Gryffindor's Best Seeker - like - Ever_ and he could have _Played Quidditch for England_…and he was better than _me,_ no matter how many games I won single-handedly…always irritated the _flying fuck _out of me, he did…Merlin, how I'd have loved to have _killed_ him…"

Hermione's eyes shot wide and she looked at the body strewn against the Archway.

"Harry," she breathed heavily. "Tell me - _please_ tell me, honey, - that you've brought me a _Weasley_ to kill on this thing?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione, you remember Charles…whatever-his-name-is…Weasley, don't you? He was at your wedding, I think. Gave Ron the ring that bound you to him, entrusted you to four years of bondage, knowing _exactly_ what he was doing when he did it. You remember _him_, don't you?"

"Yes, yes I remember…" Hermione hissed dangerously. She raised her wand and looked destructively at Harry. "On three?"

And, three seconds later, Charlie Weasley was blasted into several dozen pieces as the new Veil opened. It was practically a Quidditch score.


	17. A Fistful of Favours

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Hermione was getting to the point where she was considering herself a mamma wolf around the palace. But the more she walked around, and talked and chatted, and spent time with her favourite people, the more she felt as if she were developing mild schizophrenia. For while she laughed and joked and loved, especially with Harry, in the back of her mind she was snarling and growling, and wanting nothing more than to clamp her jaws around the throats of the bastards threatening them all and just rip them to bloody pieces.

She was sat with her favourite cubs on Sunday morning, in the Grand Parlour of the palace. Luna was having her hair styled by Enola, who had insisted on using a growing charm to restore its length and lustre, after it had been shaved off during her imprisonment at Hengest. Hermione tried to watch them, but she was almost entirely focused on herself. For she was sat on one of the squashy sofas with Celesca, who had pulled her legs under herself to sit on her ankles.

Apparently, this was the best way to hand out tuition. And she was being _Hermione Potter-level_ bossy about it.

For little Celesca was conducting an in-depth lesson with Hermione. Today's subject was Baby Holding, with advanced credit in Bottle Feeding. Hermione was sat, semi-terrified, with baby Alison Longbottom resting in the crook of her left arm, while Celesca offered pointers on posture and grip and talked to Alison in her head, telling her to relax and to not be sick over Hermione, as she was really very afraid of doing something wrong.

And Celesca was _very_ invested in this. After all, if Hermione couldn't be a good stand-in mother to Alison, how could she be expected to raise Celesca's future husband, when the time came for her to give birth to him?

"You need to relax, Lady Hermione," said Celesca, comfortingly. "You are doing just fine. Stop fussing!"

"Yes, boss!" Hermione quirked, swapping grins with Luna. "I'm just worried about her head, that's all."

"Her head is fine," said Celesca. "She says she's nice and comfy so you can stop worrying, really."

"I _can't _stop worrying, sweetheart," Hermione moaned. "I'm not very good at this. Oh dear…"

"You're doing _fine_," Celesca soothed. "And you'll get better if you practice a bit. I'm sure Alison wont mind if you go up and give her a cwtch when you want to. I like that…_cwtch_. It's better than _cuddles_. Though I like that, too. And _actual_ cuddles. Which is why you had better get good at this, Lady Hermione."

"And why's that?" Hermione queried, startled by Celesca's firm tone. "What has me being good with the baby got to do with me being able to cuddle _you_? I can do that quite well already."

"Yes, you can, you're a very good cuddler," Celesca agreed. "Master Harry _certainly_ likes your cuddling. I don't understand quite why he always wants you to have no _clothes_ on when he cuddles you, though. Maybe it's because you're softer like that. On your skin and things. Master Harry has had a _lot_ of rough, spiky things in his life, hasn't he? He must prefer you with no clothes…because you must be smoother and nicer - than all the nasty things he's used to - and he must like that better, I think. Yes, that's probably it."

"Probably," Enola agreed, solemnly, grinning wickedly at Hermione, who was blushing scarlet.

"Though really," Celesca went on, thoughtfully. "Master Harry thinks about you doing _most_ things with no clothes on, Lady Hermione. Not just cuddling. Though I think that's his favourite."

"Is it, Min?" Enola laughed. "Is it his favourite?"

"Well, he thinks about it a lot," Hermione agreed, with a shy grin. "So I suppose it must be."

"Just give me a heads up if you decide to take up naked gardening, or something!" Enola crowed. "I can always learn a blindness charm, just in case!"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Celesca, seriously. "What if you got sunburnt on your bum? You might not be able to sit down till it was better. And that would be _bound_ to hurt your feet after a while."

"_Celesca_," said Luna, in gentle warning, as Enola just broke down in a fit of giggles.

"Sorry, Mummy," Celesca replied, suitable chastised.

"But, you were saying, Cesc," Hermione went on. "About why I have to learn to cwtch properly."

"Oh yes, well," Celesca rabbited on. "It's obvious, really. You have to get good at baby cuddles…so you can teach my husband how to be good at cuddling, when you and Master Harry make him as a baby for me. Because I like cuddling quite a lot, you see. Though, I suppose _I_ could teach him how to cuddle when we are married, if you aren't able to. Do you think he'd want to cuddle _me_ without my clothes on? Like Master Harry does with you?"

"He might want to," said Hermione. "Husbands and wives often like to cuddle without any clothing on."

"Oh, I know all about _that_ kind of cuddling, Lady Hermione," said Celesca sagely. "That's how babies get into ladies' tummies."

"And just who, exactly, told you that?" asked Luna, crossly.

"Nobody _told_ me, Mummy," Celesca frowned back. "I worked it out all by myself. I'm clever, see, like Lady Hermione. Which is why her baby boy will want to marry me, because he'll be like Master Harry. And Master Harry likes very much how clever Lady Hermione is, so we'll be the same as them."

Hermione couldn't get used to this, the blasé way Celesca talked about her marriage to Hermione's as yet unborn, _unconcieved_ son. It was as if she was relating facts, discussing assured circumstances, character traits, as if it were happening now, not in the far off future. It was quite disconcerting to have such an integral part of her son's life so mapped out.

Not that she minded. She loved Celesca. She could marry _all_ her children if she wanted to, as far as Hermione was concerned.

"What do you mean '_you worked it out_', sweetie?" asked Luna. "Did you find a book on it in Hermione's library or something? I know how much you like it in there. And I hope you've said_ 'thank you'_ to Lady Hermione for letting you use it whenever you like."

"Oh no, it's fine Luna, honestly," said Hermione, smiling. "It's a gift I'm happy to give."

"But manners should still be no trouble," said Luna, sternly, narrowing her eyes at Celesca. "Even for a girl with special magic who might, one day, call the Lady of this house her _mother-in-law._"

"Thank you, Lady Hermione," said Celesca, in a chaste and quiet voice, turning her eyes down sheepishly. "Thank you for letting me use your library whenever I like to."

Hermione wanted to scoop Celesca into a hug and tell her she was welcome. She looked so upset at being told off, she was on the verge of tears. Hermione had a wild urge to tell_ Luna_ off for being so stern. But, she reasoned, that was just something that being a parent was all about. This was a lesson she'd have to learn herself.

"You're very welcome," said Hermione, smiling gently. "One day, you'll have to show me the books you're reading, and I can tell you which ones are my favourites."

"Oh, _will_ you?" Celesca exclaimed, perking up in an instant. "I'd so like to know which one your favourite is. I don't think I have a favourite. Alison likes _Zoric the Alien_, and I like that one, too. But I don't think it's my favourite. I did find a _very_ funny book in the library the other day, though. It was called _The Monster Book of Monsters_ and it went around trying to _eat_ me. And I was _so _frightened to start with, as it was chasing me round and round, then I saw that it was just _playing_. And I laughed and laughed and tried to hide from it, then it would find me, and in the end I climbed up and sat on the table so it couldn't get me, and it got tired and went to sleep. It was the _best_ day."

Hermione laughed hard at the tale, and Alison shifted in her arms, causing Hermione to squeak in fright.

"Is she okay?" Hermione asked, looking to Celesca in wide-eyed concern.

"Oh yes, she just likes people laughing," Celesca giggled. "Don't worry, Lady Hermione. Ally likes you cuddling her. She thinks you smell nice."

Hermione shook her head in wonder. Celesca was a wonder, this Seer ability…Hermione was just astounded by the ease with which she used it. She found her new connection to Harry as jarring as it was intimate at times, but this, she reasoned, was due to the newness of it. Celesca was a practiced pro at this, but it was still incredible to watch it at work.

"So, Celesca, if it wasn't a book that told you all about babies, what was it?" asked Enola, curling Luna's fringe.

Celesca bit her lip, and looked sheepishly at her mother.

"It's something you've _Seen_, isn't it?" asked Luna.

Hermione looked over curiously. For some reason, Luna's tone made Hermione imagine _Seen_ with a capital _S_.

Celesca nodded. "It's not a bad thing, Mummy. I wasn't being naughty. I promise."

"Then what is it?" asked Luna, gently.

"It might be a secret, and I don't want you to get mad at me if I say," said Celesca nervously.

"Is it about me?" asked Luna. Celesca shook her head. "But it's about someone in here?"

Celesca nodded. "It's not about baby Ally, though. But I've told her, and _she_ thinks I should say."

Enola quirked a curious look. "My daughter, my _baby_ daughter, thinks you should tell us how learned that babies are made?"

"Yes," said Celesca, blinking innocently at Enola. "Though I don't know how they're made, exactly. But I know how they get there."

"I have to hear this," said Enola, smirking in fascination. "Go on, Cesc, there're no secrets between girls here."

Celesca looked to Luna for permission, which she gave with a nod. Celesca took a nervous little swallow.

"Well, you remember how you said husbands and wives like to cuddle with no clothes on, Lady Hermione?"

"I remember," she smiled in confirmation.

"Well…Lord Longbottom and Lady Longbottom have been doing a _lot_ of cuddling with no clothes on lately," said Celesca, grinning shyly.

"Yes, we have," said Enola, in unmasked pride. She winked at Hermione.

"Yes, well," Celesca went on. "Sometimes, when important things are happening, I see them in my dreams."

Enola's eyes popped wide and she blushed crimson. "You've been watching me and Neville cuddling with no clothes on in your dreams?"

"No, no, no, not that," said Celesca rapidly, her voice frightened and nervous. "I wasn't _watching_, Lady Longbottom, honest I wasn't. I promise I wasn't watching, Mummy. You believe me, don't you, Lady Hermione?"

"Oh, Cesc, honey, I didn't mean to sound like I was telling you off!" said Enola quickly, her voice soft and soothing. "We all believe you. You just surprised me, that's all. I'm sorry if you thought I was cross, honey."

"Oh, that's okay then," said Celesca, smiling and visibly relaxing.

Hermione frowned, why was she so afraid all the time? She was quick to terror. Hermione filed it away for later.

"Go on," Enola encouraged.

"Well, I had a dream the other night," Celesca continued. "And it was of you and Lord Longbottom cuddling with no clothes on. Then - and this was the _really weird_ part - I could sort of sense a little conversation in your belly. It was _weird_ 'cause there was a tadpole talking to an egg. It wanted to get _inside_ the egg and turn into…and you won't _believe_ this...and I _promise_ I'm not fibbing…it wanted to turn into a _baby._"

All three women gasped aloud. Enola dropped her curling tongs, which hit the floor with a crash.

"Anyway, I thought it was all very silly," Celesca went on in a sniffy voice. "But, they were _right_…because the next day I saw you at breakfast and there was a little baby starting to grow in you. It's nothing like a baby yet, but it's there. And I didn't know if you wanted to have a baby in you, so I didn't _tell_ you, but you said there are no secrets between girls. So, now you know. But…Lady Longbottom…what happened to the shell?"

Enola was too stunned to respond. So Hermione, who was thrilled for her best friend at the news, replied for her.

"What _shell_, sweetheart?"

"The one on the egg," said Celesca simply. "It didn't have one, which isn't like any egg that _I_ know about. I just wondered if you'd noticed bits coming out when you were having a wee or something."

Hermione grinned fondly at her favourite Seer. "That kind of egg doesn't have a shell, sweetie, but you're very clever for working all that out by yourself."

"So…I…I'm having a…I'm having a _baby_?" Enola stuttered, finally finding her voice.

"Well, yes, it's in your tummy now," said Celesca brightly. "I don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet. I could have a look ahead and see, if you like."

"No, don't do that, honey, I'd quite like the surprise," said Enola. "Oh my _Merlin_! I'm having a baby!"

The euphoria suddenly hit her and she raced to Hermione to hug her deeply. She reached down and scooped Alison into her arms.

"Guess what, babe, you're going to have a little brother or sister soon?" Enola swooned, rocking her daughter happily. "Do you think you'll like that?"

"She _really_ does," Celesca nodded enthusiastically. "She's ever so excited. She says she's going to be the best big sister _ever_!"

Enola laughed heartily and cooed to her baby. "I'm sure you will be! I have to go…I have to tell Nev…he'll be over the moon with this!"

And with that, she darted off. Luna grinned as she watched her go. "I suppose I'll just finish my _own_ hair, then!"

"Your hair looks very pretty already, Mummy," said Celesca. "You should leave it like that."

"Then I shall," said Luna, chuckling. "I'm just going to tidy all this up."

And she set to work, packing away all the brushes and curlers. With her distracted, Hermione turned and spoke quietly with Celesca.

"Celesca…why do you get so afraid when you think you're going to be told off?"

Celesca turned her wide eyes to Hermione. "Are you going to tell me off?"

"I don't think I could _ever_ tell you off, sweetheart," Hermione grinned. "You're far too cute. But your Mum…when she gets cross with you…why does she scare you? I know she would never hit you or anything, so what is it?"

Celesca gulped in her fear. "I can't tell _you_, Lady Hermione. Please don't make me."

Now Hermione was concerned. She shifted pointedly. "It's to do with _me?"_

Celesca nodded. "It will upset you, and I don't want to upset you."

"You're not…_frightened_ of me…are you?"

"Oh no, it's not that," said Celesca. "I like you a lot. That's why I don't want to make you sad."

"And this will?" asked Hermione. Celesca nodded again. This was deeply confusing. "So…you know something that will upset _me_…and when people get cross it makes you think of it…and it scares you? Is that it?"

Celesca gave an almost imperceptible nod. Hermione's heart was throbbing at the little girl's fear.

"You can tell me," said Hermione softly. "Whatever it is…I'll look after you. I promise I'll protect you from it. And, if I get upset, It will just make me protect you _more_."

Celesca looked up at that. "Oh. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Celesca took a deep breath. "Well, it's just that…when people, especially Mummy, get cross with me…it reminds me of _her_…the nasty lady with the _long black hair._"

Hermione's heart stopped dead, her breath halting in her lungs. The lady with the black hair? Surely not…not _that bitch_? What on Earth was this all about?

"That _lady_ frightens you?" Hermione breathed. "But why?"

"Because she's the nastiest…the ugliest…"

Celesca stopped, breathing hard. Hermione was stunned. She'd never heard Celesca sound so _hateful _before. She was borderline acidic. What had she Seen?

"You can tell me _anything_ about her, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Master Harry and I are going to teach that woman a lesson for all her bad ways very soon. But why are _you_ so afraid of her?"

"You're sure you won't be mad?"

"Positive. You're safe here. Go on."

"She's just the _worst,"_ said Celesca darkly. "Worse than any of them. Even the man with the snake-face."

Hermione's heart was beating so hard now it was hurting. Celesca had seen _Voldemort_? It was a horror unimaginable.

"Why is she the worst?" asked Hermione, aghast.

"Remember, I said sometimes I just _See_ important things? Remember? Well, they can be good and bad. I saw Lord and Lady Longbottom making a good baby, but I also saw the black-haired lady and the snake-man…and what they did to _their_ babies…"

And whatever this was, it scared Celesca so much she leapt into Hermione's arms and starting balling into her shoulder. Hermione was startled into shock, and Luna hurried over to sit with them, a look of deep concern on her face.

"What's happened?" she asked, smoothing Celesca's back. It was futile to try and break the death grip her fists had dug into Hermione's cardigan.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered, threading her fingers through Celesca's blonde locks. "She's seen something…to do with Riddle and _Ginny Weasley_ and their abominable kids…something that will, apparently, upset _me_…and - somehow - _you_ remind her of it."

"Cesc, honey, calm down," Luna soothed. "You're safe. They can't hurt you here."

"_She_ can_,"_ Celesca sobbed. "She can come into my dreams. She's trying to _get_ me."

A powerful, protective anger rose in Hermione's chest, and she wanted to lash out and scratch viciously at the very mention of Ginny's name.

"Talk to me. Right now," said Luna, gentle but firm. She pulled Celesca to her. "What do you mean…she's trying to _get_ you?"

"Cesc, sweetie, we won't let her hurt you," said Hermione softly. "Just tell us what's going on."

Celesca sighed tiredly. Her grief was draining her. "The black haired lady can get into my dreams. She wants me, you see. To do…_that thing_…to a new baby she wants to have."

"What thing?" asked Luna.

"The thing she did to her other ones…with Lady Hermione's mummy and daddy."

Hermione shivered coldly all over her skin as Celesca's words echoed away. She swallowed hard…what was she about to hear?

"Celesca…please tell me…what did she do?" Hermione breathed.

"Her, and the horrible snake-man, they are the worst ever," said Celesca. "They shouldn't be _allowed_ to have babies. But they did. But…but…they made sure they had no _souls._"

Hermione gasped. Luna had lost all colour from her cheeks.

"What do you mean…_no souls_?"

"They…they want everyone to do what they tell them, and not argue or anything," Celesca explained. "But not everyone does that. So they want all the kids to be like that from now on. So, when the babies were growing in the black-haired lady, they _forced_ another soul into it…so it couldn't have one of it's own."

Hermione felt vomit rise in her throat. She retched at it.

"And…are you saying…they used Hermione's _parents_ for it?" asked Luna, in utter horror.

Celesca bit her lip and nodded. "They told me when I helped Master Harry to find them. But they shouldn't _do_ things like that, Mummy! Messing with souls…it's just the _worst_ thing. Worse than messing with minds, like poor Master Harry. At least _that_ can be fixed. Souls…if they get broke they stay broke…forever."

Hermione choked back a tear. "My parents souls…are they _broken_?"

"Almost, Lady Hermione," said Celesca quietly. "You see, when the black haired lady had her babies, the snake-man ripped your mummy and daddies souls _out_ and put it back in their bones, where they were buried. So they couldn't leave, see, to go _over_. They were stuck. They put two souls into the babies so there wouldn't be room for a new one to grow. But your mummy and daddy…their souls got _hurt_ each time they were pulled out of the baby…three times and they would have _gone_ completely."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"I don't know, Lady Hermione," said Celesca darkly. "Even _I_ can't see into that place…it's so dark and cold…and so scary…it's just the most horrible place…don't let her send me there, please don't!"

And Celesca erupted into a fresh waves of sobs, burying her head into her mother's shoulder. Hermione and Luna exchanged desperate, horrorstruck looks. They could find no way to console the distraught little girl between them.

After a few minutes, Celesca eased down on her tears. She pulled back, puffy eyed and sleepy

"Honey," said Luna, carefully. "Why do you think Ginny wants to send you to that place?"

"S-she _told_ m-me," Celesca hiccuped. "I was naughty to her, see. The night…the night when Lady Hermione and Master Harry came to rescue me…_she_ was there…and so was _he!_ They were going to make a new baby,and put _my_ soul into it. She…_she_ pretended she was _you_, Mummy. She looked like you and everything. And she got all cross with me, and was telling me off and told me I had to sit on the _naughty seat_…till I was good again. Then they tried to set it on fire…with me still _in_ it!"

Luna cried out in anguish, clutching at her chest. Tears flew from her eyes and she pulled Celesca close. "Oh…oh…my poor, _poor _girl! I'm so sorry…so sorry I wasn't there for you, my baby!"

Hermione couldn't think properly. Her mind was in a state of tumult and her heart…she didn't have the vocabulary to do it justice.

"When they found me, they wanted to put me in a baby, to make it powerful," Celesca went on. "But I couldn't stay in there, because of my special magic. But I couldn't be allowed to be a ghost, either, because I might have told someone what they were doing to all the babies. So they were going to send me to that dark place when the baby came out. I'd have been stuck there forever, and I don't want to be. You won't let her, will you, Mummy? Will you, Lady Hermione?_"_

Hermione cried out in anger. The windows rattled with it. "No, sweetheart, I wont. And, after tonight, she won't be coming to your dreams anymore."

Celesca looked up in disbelieving hope. "How do you know that?"

Hermione had to stand up before she answered. Anger and rage, fury such as she'd never ever known, pulsed through her. Her skin _crackled _with it. She took a dozen breaths to master herself, before turning to Celesca and answering in the firmest tone she possessed.

"Because, tonight, I'm going to kill her, and both of her dirty kids, and send them _all_ to the dark place. They wont be bothering _anyone_ ever again."

And, with that, she stormed from the room. Harry had some explaining to do.

* * *

Normally, Harry Potter was happy at any chance he got to see his wife. She was beautiful, ridiculously intelligent, and just the person he wanted to be around more than any other. And when Hermione Potter was stirred to passion, she left Harry senseless with how she projected this onto him.

But, seeing her so angry that she looked like she wanted to tear his head from his shoulders, wasn't his _preferred_ look for her.

And Hermione's anger was two-pronged. On the one hand, she'd surprised Harry by Apparating to his side at a most inopportune moment - just as he'd applied his pain relief potion to his scar. She watched him in secret, writhing around in abject agony, till his wrecked skin went numb. Then she just stepped from the bedroom into the alchemy cell and glowered at him with a furious look on her face, her emotions racing and jumbled to the point that even Harry, feeling each and every one, felt dizzy at them.

Then there was her _other_ source of chagrin. The one that had brought her to him in the first place. Harry wasn't quite sure what it was just yet, but he was pretty confident he wouldn't like it when she told him.

"So…you _can_ still keep secrets then?" Hermione asked angrily. "What happened to _sharing_ everything?"

Harry looked sheepishly down. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to make excuses. My _treatment_ hurts…and I didn't want you to see. It's the only way I can get through the day sometimes."

Hermione's heart pounded in deep sympathy and pity, angry at his suffering. Harry felt it in his own chest.

Hermione stepped close, cupping his face tenderly. "And you do this…_every_ day?"

Harry nodded. "More than once, sometimes. The potion is a tricky one to brew…Cassie doesn't always get it right."

"Oh, _Harry,_" Hermione moaned, smoothing his skin. "Why did you keep this from me?"

"I…I don't want you to see me like _this_…being weak."

He looked at his feet in shame. Hermione moved her hand under his chin, easing his head back up.

"This isn't cowardess," she said softly. "You are so brave to face this sort of pain every day."

Harry gave a soft chuckle. "It's worse if I _don't,_ so it's not much of a choice."

"And it's really the only way?"

Harry nodded. "I can't treat the wound. No magic touches it. So I make my face numb so I can't feel it. And the potion keeps it as clean as possible."

Hermione gasped, as one of Harry's thoughts flitted across her own mind. "What does that mean?"

"What?"

"That thought…it keeps it clean…_ but the Dark Magic_ _is slowl_y _killing_ _me_!"

"Oh…fuck.," Harry replied, awkwardly. "I seriously need to reign my thoughts in."

"Harry…no…no that _can't_ be true…not when we've just found each other!" Hermione cried, tears bursting down her cheeks. Harry tried not to smirk, Hermione was upset after all…but he _knew_ he'd win their bet.

"Hey, hey," said Harry consolingly. "Come on, it's not going to happen soon. I've got years and years left yet. You can't get rid of me _that_ easily."

"But, Harry," Hermione wept. "What's _years and years_? Sixty? Seventy? Wizards can live to a couple of _hundred_ with the right lifestyles."

"That's true. But, for me, it's more like twenty or thirty," said Harry, softly.

Hermione howled into the cool air of the alchemy cell. "_No_, Harry! I _love_ you. I wont _allow_ that!"

Harry took her shaking body and held her close. "There isn't anything we can do. I've been around the world looking for answers. Shamens in America, witchdoctors in Africa, I even tried the tribes in Greenland on the off chance. But they all came up with the same answer - the Killing Curse is meant to _kill_. It might not have taken me right away, but - especially once I fulfil the terms of the prophecy and kill Riddle - it _will_."

"No, Harry, I wont let it," said Hermione, her voice wobbling. "I just _wont_."

"Hey, look," Harry whispered into her hair. "I'm acclimatised to it. I've come back, found the love of my life, _married_ _her, _apparently we are going to have lots of babies together. To me, that sounds like a pretty good twenty or thirty years to have with you."

"But that's not e_nough_, Harry!" Hermione cried. "Not for _me_! I'd take my own life when you died, rather than be without you. But I can't do that to our children. So we have to find a way to fix you. I'm not fucking having this. I'm not."

Harry laughed softly into her hair. "I'm not going to spend my time with you wondering _what if._ I've done enough of that. I'm just going to enjoy _what is_. And when it happens…it happens. But I'll know I've had that time with you, and I'll be okay. And I'll be waiting for you when it's _your time_."

"Fuck that, Harry," said Hermione, pulling away. "You may have had this great little scheme planned out, but you can forget it. Forget it this _instant_. Fucking dying! You are _not_ dying in thirty years. And I'm not going to just watchyou get sicker and sicker until that happens, sitting idly by. No way."

"And what do you propose?" asked Harry, with a tired sigh. "What can you do that no-one else has tried?"

Hermione frowned for all of seven seconds…then her eyes lit up.

"Harry…I can _love_ you to health!"

"You can…_what_?" He asked. Cautious hope had stirred in him. Hermione was suddenly alive with fervour. Harry felt it ignite in his own body. It was intoxicating.

"_That's_ what I can do, darling, that nobody else can!" she said proudly. "I can _love_ that fucking evil right out of you!"

"How?"

"Harry…we cured Ann, with our joined energy," said Hermione excitedly. "Why can't I - or we - do the same to _you_? Riddle cursed you with _hate_…I've wanted to test my love against that_..._my love for_ you_…Harry, honey, maybe this is my chance!"

Harry's heart took off. He hadn't thought of that. It seemed a little dumb that he _hadn't, _now it occurred to him. He chuckled to himself. Why were _Mrs Potters_ so much more insightful than the male side, especially when it came to the blindingly obvious?

"Harry, you know more about this," said Hermione quickly. "Is there any reason why we _couldn't_ do this?"

Harry thought hard a moment. "Well, the only stumbling block would be the prophecy."

"How so?"

"Well, under the terms of the prophecy, Riddle _could_ kill me," said Harry. "We are linked by that. I looked into a lot of rituals that might somehow _break_ that link, but he'd cursed me already. My scar, you see, it's full of a sort of _poison_ that came with the curse…and it's spreading."

Hermione gasped. "How?"

"Blood infection," Harry explained. "I take a potion to thin my blood and filter it, but it's deeply ingrained now. It affects my bones. So I hurt quite a lot. I take potions so you don't see that, either."

"Oh, Harry…"

"Come on, Min, I just don't want you to see me in pain, is that really so hard to accept?"

"No, it's just your normal, noble silliness," said Hermione lightly. "But there must be a way to use our new power to help you. There must be. What's the use of it otherwise?"

Harry felt more hope surge in him. He felt suddenly light, more optimistic than he had in years. "Well, my mum did say we can solve _any_ problem now. Maybe she meant this, too."

"Your mum? When did you speak to her?" asked Hermione. Then she huffed. "Don't tell me…_another_ secret?"

"I have good grounds for this one," said Harry, quickly.

"Which are?"

"There's a room, on the third sub-level. I can go there to meet with my dead ancestors," Harry began. "I learned all my alchemy stuff in there."

"Okay. And why did you keep this from me?" Hermione queried.

"I was going to take you," said Harry. "I _will_. Merlin is just _dying_ to meet you, you know. Even though he's already dead. He thinks you're going to be his favourite witch ever."

"Don't distract me, Harry," Hermione frowned, which was an un-Hermione-like foolish thing to say, as she was _totally_ distracted by that.

"Sorry. It's just that, I can see _my_ family in there," said Harry. "And, because you're _sexily_ clever, you would have worked out that _your_ parents are family now, too, and you'd have wanted to see them."

"But they couldn't come because they aren't strong enough," Hermione read from inside Harry's mind. "Because their souls are _damaged…_because of Ginny."

Harry started. "What? Ginny…_what?"_

"You knew they'd been hurt…but you don't know about Ginny…" Hermione thought, aloud. "Okay. I wont be mad at you for that. But you still should have said about my parents."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Harry. "But what the fuck is going on with Ginny? How is that bitch involved with this?"

"She's mentally stalking Celesca," said Hermione, bluntly. Harry swore violently in reply. "She was going to use her in some sort of ritual, trying to force her soul into the creation of a baby with Riddle. I can only assume she created some kind of mental link to her as part of that. It allows her to enter her dreams and torment her."

"Oh fuck Merlin!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "Is she alright?"

"No, she's totally traumatised by the whole thing," said Hermione. "Every time someone tries to tell her off, she freaks out. It sounds a bit like PTSD, to me. She may need ritual help to deal with this, Harry. It sounds like Ginny _Polyjuiced_ into Luna..made Celesca enter that sacrificial pyre in Glastonbury by mimicking her own mother! I feel so terrible…I never asked her about _that night_…when we rescued her. That's when all this happened, apparently. We were so blind to that, Harry."

Harry began to pace, his anger throbbing around him. "Ginny and Riddle used a sex ritual, a _creation_ ritual…Merlin forbid. I knew Riddle was going beyond Horcruxes into even deeper and darker Soul Magic...but _this?_ I never imagined…What were they doing? And how did your parents get caught up in it?"

"Cesc said their souls were _forced_ into the bodies of the babies Ginny carried from Riddle," Hermione explained. "And then used some sort of _soul rend_ to rip them out after birth."

"Thus leaving a largely empty shell, that they could easily make pliant to their will," said Harry, nodding as he understood. "Fuck me, Min…what is wrong with these people?"

"They aren't people, Harry," said Hermione. "They're monsters. I can only assume they used my parents simply as just another assault on me."

"Unless there is some other spell they used, as a bind against you, using your link to your parents," Harry speculated, darkly. "It doesn't matter, it's gone from you now. But…my parents…they are taking care of _yours_ in the next world. I'll tell them about this. Maybe they can find a way to use it, maybe speed up the healing process."

"Your family…is taking care of _my_ parents…in the _afterlife_?" Hermione breathed. She was looking so reverently at Harry he had to look away from her face.

Harry nodded in shy acknowledgement. "I swear I didn't know about Ginny. I knew your parents souls were injured, my mum and dad told me when we buried them, but I didn't know how. My best guess was that they were Horcruxes that had gone wrong…or…I don't know, really. I was just guessing. I was too upset to ask what had _actually_ happened. That ceremony was…emotional for me."

"I know," said Hermione softly. "I never said a proper thank you for that. But I will…by healing your scar."

And she took Harry's face in her hands, and kissed him softly. When she drew away, she looked closely at his wound, studying it critically.

"Harry…do you think it affects your magic?" she asked, cocking a curious eyebrow at him. "You know…_restricts_ it at all?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, it's just that," she began. "I think we've established that you have command of _very_ potent _Light Magic_. But could this Dark Magic…that infects you so badly…be acting as a sort of…_drag_. Could you be even more powerful than you already are if it was gone?"

"Why do I get the feeling the name _Dumbledore_ is on your mind?" Harry smirked at her.

"Ooh, can you read my thoughts too, now?" she grinned at him. "That's a pity. I was quite enjoying this being a one-way scenario."

"Hermione…"

"What? That fight is on the horizon," said Hermione. "And as much I've assured everyone you _can_ beat Dumbledore, neither of us have a clue how you're going to manage it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry quirked at her.

"There's no point waxing your ego," said Hermione, firmly. "This is life and death with the fate of the world in the balance."

"No pressure, then."

"We need all the extra power we can get," Hermione went on. "I just can't help thinking that if we can get the Darkness from you, the Light will be even stronger."

"I get your point, I really do," said Harry. "But healing me isn't going to be as easy as healing Ann. For her, we had a point of reference, we knew what we were looking for to target. It was a _specific_ spell to undo. Here, Riddle's very _essence_ has infected me. I might as well have had a transfusion of his filthy blood."

Hermione looked over, a gleam of dark triumph in her eyes. "Then, perhaps what we need, is _some_ of his blood…to make an antidote."

"Pretty sure old Tom isn't going to hold out his arm and let you find a vein," said Harry, off-handedly.

"No, perhaps not," said Hermione. "But who said anything about asking him nicely? Who said anything about asking _him_ at all?"

"I smell a plan brewing."

"We can't get Riddle's own blood," said Hermione. "But, if all we need is his _essence_, I'm sure one of his _children_ will do just as well."

Harry gawked at her. She was _fierce_ when she went Dark. It was hotter than he could possibly imagine.

"You never took me out for my birthday, Harry," said Hermione. "But, you know what…I quite fancy a trip to the theatre tonight…"

* * *

"It's not a case of just _telling_ you. It's not a spell you learn. It's more a _technique_ that you _apply_."

Enola was trying to be patient, despite Hermione's determinedly animated manner.

"Well, you can still teach me that, can't you?" Hermione asked. She was folding a pea-green baby grow and trying not to be broody about the whole thing.

"Not overnight," said Enola. "It takes a long time to get to that level."

"Grrr, Ennie, you are being _supremely_ unhelpful!" Hermione complained.

"Look, Min, I understand your frustration, I really do," said Enola, placing a consoling hand on her forearm. "But healing is complex and takes a lot of instruction to get right. If you just dive right in you might end up doing more harm than good."

Hermione huffed. "I don't want _that_."

"No, of course you don't," Enola agreed gently. "That's why I'm saying you need to be mindful of what you're trying to do."

"But this isn't _conventional_ healing," Hermione argued. "There might be some some sort of exception to the general rule."

"There might. But as I only know the _general_ rule, I can't advise you on the other stuff."

Hermione huffed again. This wasn't going to plan. There seemed to be an answer so close, but every time she got near it slipped away, like the details of an important dream that should have been written down, but slipped away with the dawn light. And this was ten times more frustrating.

"Do you _really_ think Harry's scar can be healed then?" Enola asked.

"Personally, I can't see any reason why not," said Hermione. "Harry's a little but skeptical…but I think he's just so used to thinking he was doomed. Did…did _you_ know how bad his scar was?"

Enola blushed timidly. "Not in so many words. I knew it was worse than he let on, but never how bad it went. I didn't know about the infection at all."

Hermione shook her head. "It's a serious character flaw that he keeps everything so bottled up." Enola scoffed at that, and Hermione frowned at her. "What?"

"That's a bit of _pot - kettle_, isn't it, Min?" Enola replied. "How many years were you being battered by that ginger gypsy you called a husband? How often did you seek support from your friends?"

"That was different."

"No it wasn't," Enola returned staunchly. "Harry keeps his wounded side to himself…to appear strong for everyone else. So did you. That's not different, Min…that's _the same_. It's another way of you being so perfect for each other. If the roles had been reversed, the outcome would have been the same."

Hermione blushed at that. "It's borderline comical how perfectly matched we are. Even in our _suffering_. Someone up there will have some _serious_ explaining to do at the end of all this."

Enola laughed at that. "You know, I can just see you telling off The Almighty for giving Harry a hard time. I don't envy them when _that_ time comes!"

Hermione grinned back. "I intend that to be a _long_ way down the line. I just have to find a way to heal Harry of the poison in his blood and scar that is fuelling it."

Enola looked away reticently. "So…you're really going to do it? Kill a _child,_ I mean?"

Hermione let the words hang between them a moment. She supposed she ought to feel guilty for what she had to do, but she didn't have it in her. But she felt guilty for _not feeling guilty _instead, and it pacified her. She just couldn't get past her hatred for Ginny. For what she'd done to her parents, what she was _still_ doing to Celesca. Even for what she'd done to her own children. She'd robbed them of their innocence before they even had a chance to develop any.

"I just don't think of them as children," said Hermione quietly. She went back to folding baby clothes. Her and Enola couldn't meet each others' eyes for this conversation. "I don't even think of them as _alive."_

"I just suppose you have to comfort yourself," Enola offered thoughtfully. "That they'd not hesitate to do it you…or your kids."

"Or _yours_," Hermione added, nodding pointedly at Alison, sleeping away in her crib, and Enola's occupied womb, which was on her same line of sight.

"True. Gut them both, I'd say."

"That's my girl," Hermione quirked. "In any case, I see it as a mercy I'm serving on them. That's no life they've got. How did Harry describe killing Fleur Weasley? _Doing her a favour she didn't know she needed_? I like that."

"That was cold-blooded, even for Harry," said Enola, darkly.

Hermione looked at her sternly. "Is that a criticism?"

Enola looked back, startled by Hermione's harsh tone. "Well…was it really necessary? They weren't a threat, they'd turned their back on all this."

"Ha! And therein lies their guilt," said Hermione triumphantly. "They _turned their backs_ on this! Washed their hands of their own family shame. Do you know, Harry intends to give a full pardon to _George_ Weasley? At least he went out like a proper martyr.

"Harry gave me the dossier he had on Bill and Arthur. They'd set up a cosy little business in Cairo. Bill would curse-break for tourists who went into tombs they shouldn't have, while Arthur enchanted Muggle objects for a fee. The Egyptian Magical Government are far less strict on such things as other world governments. Merlin…you should see how much Gold tourists were willing to pay for an _actual_ flying carpet from Cairo.

"They had no interest in helping organise resistance from abroad, like _so_ many others did. Some of the other escapees had young families, they can be excused. But Bill, Arthur and Fleur worked for the Order of the Phoenix. And when the war seemed lost, they fled like cowards. They left their friends…of which I was supposed to be one…they left the escape passage, that Harry had built, to their corrupt family and the _horrors_ they turned that in to…

"No, Enola, it was wasn't cold blooded. It was _justice_…for treason and cowardice and dereliction of duty."

Enola took her telling off with admirable composure. "Wow…that's all I can say. Spoken like a true Queen of old. Remind me never to fuck with you and Harry, Min."

"Don't fuck with us," Hermione parroted. "There's your warning. You wont get another."

There was no grin, no light hearted vocal inflection. Hermione meant every syllable. And Enola swallowed hard at the realisation that she did. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, then Hermione turned and drew Enola into a deep hug. They didn't speak, but their embrace communicated everything that needed to be said. The air held a serious tone, it steeled both women to the reality of the world, but the tension between best friends was broken.

"So, apart from the healing, what else can we do to help Harry?" Enola asked eventually. "Have you had a thought about who else might be protecting Riddle's lost Horcrux?"

Hermione sighed. She had been thinking. She'd thought of little else. And the outcomes made her sick to her stomach.

"The problem - or perhaps the benefit - of Harry having such a closed circle in life," Hermione began. "Is that there are only a limited number of possibilities. I've been trying to put myself into his shoes…to _think_ as if I was Tom Riddle. And I don't like what I've come up with."

"Which is?"

"The obvious ones are me and Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Quite public, quite well known, lots of people would confess in a basic interrogation that we were both close to Harry."

"Or, you'd get a twat husband who'd just hand you over for a fucking percentage profit from a genocidal holocaust," Enola spat.

"Or that," Hermione agreed, her tone equally as acrid. "And, speaking of that prick, _he_ can be ruled out a Horcrux Protector. Besides his obvious treachery on a personal level, he exposed _me_ to Riddle, as well as abused me senseless for all those years. Harry _hates_ him. From the depths of his being. You should _feel_ it, the way I have, feel how elemental it is. It would take your breath away.

"I mean…he hates him more than he hates Riddle…probably more than _I_ hate Ron. I almost feel guilty for denying Harry the final death blow on him. But I think he'll be satisfied with breaking as many parts of his body as he can reach. He would have no problem whatsoever in disembowelling him in front of Molly Weasley's fat fucking ghost."

"Wow!" said Enola, as her eyebrows vanished into her fringe. "So…who _else_ is there?"

"That's the problem, not many," said Hermione. "There are very few people that Riddle might think Harry would hesitate to take out. Which has been my problem. It's not who _I_ think…but who _he_ thinks. Which leaves, for me, a shortlist…a very _short_ shortlist."

"And who's on it?"

"Harry's Muggle relatives, the Dursleys," said Hermione. "Harry was horrifically abused by them as a child, but it's not common knowledge. He hates them, too, but -"

"He was protected in their home until he was seventeen!" said Enola, nodding as understanding hit. "Riddle might think they gave him that protection _willingly. _And that Harry _loves_ them for it. I know how fucking backwards _that_ is…Privet Drive is practically the access road to the Dark Plane in his mind."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "So I think they are a fair shout. The only other one I can think of…and this may be the most difficult of the lot…is his godson, Teddy Lupin."

"Oh, Merlin forbid!" Enola hissed quietly. "He's just a boy…maybe Celesca's age."

"Yeah, he'd be around that," said Hermione. "Harry has never been able to locate him. I've always found that suspicious. He might be dead, but if he _isn't, _I'd bet my house on him being the last Horcrux Protector."

"And this is such a _big_ house!" Enola replied, trying to make light of the darkness settling on them both. "This is the bad part of this, isn't it? The part where it gets real…and ugly real at that."

"Yep," Hermione sighed bracingly. "I know I said I'd do anything for Harry, but I'd have preferred it not to involve the deaths of so many children."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not for a second," Hermione replied coolly. "I almost could be seen as doing a good thing. I mean…it's a _lot_ of favours for people who didn't know them needed them."

* * *

Harry entered the sub-level to the palace and locked the door. He never usually locked it, but he didn't want to be disturbed. He even threw up an Anti-Apparition ward to prevent any magical incursion. This wasn't something he wanted to share. He'd been waiting far, _far_ too long for it. He was going to enjoy it…and enjoy it alone.

As for Ron Weasley…he was about to have a _very_ bad night.

Harry moved into the Ritual Room and locked that door, too, simply out of habit. He sat back against the cool onyx panelling and heaved in heady breaths. The dark excitement coursing through him would have worried him in the past, but now he didn't care. Hermione would approve of his actions, and he needed no other validation. In fact, she'd probably be pissed that he hadn't brought her with him for this.

But he hadn't. He wanted this first remote crack at Ron's mind to be all his own. Hermione could come next time. They'd make a date out of it. The sex after would be mind-blowing. Not that it could get _much _more intense on that score.

Harry moved into the swirling mists of the dark room. When he reached the central dais, he dipped into his pocket and took out the two halves of Hermione's old wedding ring, placing them carefully on the cold of the stone altar. He moved to inspect Luna's Archway, the central curtain of light fluttering as if in a soft breeze. Harry couldn't tell if the light came from this world or the next. It didn't much matter either way. Perhaps Ron could tell him.

For Harry was planning to shove his head through it, just to see what would happen.

It was an experiment, though Harry had no interest in the scientific method on this one. Ginny Weasley's Dark cuntressness had given Harry an idea, and he decided he couldn't wait any more than an hour before he tried it out. So, as Hermione went scampering around the house seeking advice on healing, Harry swiped the two halves of her old wedding ring, went to his Ritual Room and was now going to _deal_ out some pain.

Pretty much yin and yang, really.

Harry drew his wand and began the summoning procedure. Magic swept to his command, heaving around him in dense waves. He thought he might never tire of the intoxicating sway of power as it hit him like this. Every time he performed, it was always the same. It was like a narcotic, and the more intense the ritual, the bigger the high.

Soon he was at the centre of a pulsating tornado of magic; racing, sweeping, dancing sheets of multi-colour, all crackling and hissing with the power they were channelling. With each circuit around Harry they gathered pace, gathered strength, intensified by degrees. The throb of power would have been too much for most, but Harry was in complete control.

And he was about to show his once-best friend how things had changed over the years.

Harry hissed out a summoning spell, mind magic he'd learned from Narcissa. He did it in Parseltongue, just to make it even cooler. He hardly ever used snake language, but it connected him to his inner spirit animal. And, as he was about to kidnap Ron Weasley's spirit, it seemed somehow appropriate. The magic paused and waited, like a python about to strike, then it shot into the ring.

There was a _whoosh_, a crackle of energy, a surprised cry of pain. And the solid spirit form of Ron Weasley was suddenly stood before Harry, confused and shocked.

"Hello, Ron."

Harry hit him with a spell before he'd even finished the words. Ron's cry would have been heard in the afterlife. The good - or terrible - thing about mind and spirit magic, was that an assault wasn't on bones or flesh or sinew. These attacks didn't leave bruises. There was no physical body to repair of heal. These strikes were on the _soul_…on the very essence of a person. There was no pain that could compare.

And the wounds were for keeps.

Ron, who had slumped to the ground, looked up in terror. His spirit eyes streaming.

"H-Harry…is that…is that _you_?"

"Don't recognise me, Ron?" asked Harry, keeping his voice low, growl-like and dangerous. "Or is your _Exalted Lord's_ handiwork too difficult for you to look at?"

Harry saw Ron retch, as he moved into a better lit part of the room. He grinned wickedly. He'd left his scarf off for _just_ that reaction. It thrilled him to see it flit across Ron's petrified face.

"Harry…please…I…_aarrggghhh!_"

Ron's scream, piercing and high pitched, echoing against Harry's silent curse, ricocheted off the walls. Harry had never heard a sweeter sound. He wished he'd brought something to record it. He could listen to it all day.

"Don't you dare beg to me, you cowardly cunt!" Harry hissed. "Not after all you did…after _everything_ you did...to _her_."

"Harry…"

_"Harry," _Harry mocked. "No excuses, eh, Ron? No justification? No attempt at worming your way out? Fuck you, you pathetic waste of life."

Harry hissed out another Parseltongue assault. Ron writhed and screeched, twitching violently in agony. Harry knew it was burning, too...he could smell it. A _soul-deep_ searing. This was _way _too much fun.

"How could you do it, Ron? That's what I can't wrap my mind around," Harry went on conversationally, stalking around Ron's pitiful form, twisting his wand like a conductor's baton. "How could you take the best and most beautiful girl either of us have ever, or will ever know, and take your wand and fist to her? A girl who was an angel to us throughout school, spent time with us when no other girl would, coached us, coaxed us, supported and stuck by us. A girl with breathtaking magical skill, the kindest heart, the pertest _arse_…phew…she's hotter than a carrier bag of bootleg DVD's in a West London pub.

"Don't you even _think_ about agreeing with that last point. That's my _wife_ you're talking about. Oh, I'm sure you know - but in case you missed it - we got _married_ last week. It was a beautiful ceremony, you'd have loved it. We would have invited you, but we couldn't decide if you should be sat on the Bride or Groom side. And by that I mean, we couldn't agree on which one of us you'd fucked over and stabbed in the back the most.

"Hermione was all for tearing you in half down the middle and sharing your corpse. I have to say, I had _a lot_ of time for that idea. But, in the end, I decided that a simple physical death wasn't _near_ good enough for my oldest pal. Who tried to nick my life, my girl, my country. Who sold me out to a half dead cunt who likes to put his tiny cock into as many snakes as he can. Or as many evil cunt sister's of _yours_ that he can."

Ron made a move of protest. Harry cut him down where he stood.

"Don't moan, Ron," Harry tutted, balancing his wand vertically on the pad of his index finger, as Ron moaned for all he was worth. Which wasn't much in Harry's book. "You must know you've had this coming. You and Ginny. I'm going to tell you a secret, Ron. But you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Ron moaned. He had no concept of speech in his world of agony.

"Yes, yes, I suppose it _is_ my fault that you can't speak right now," Harry taunted. "So, I'll just have to answer _for_ you." He put on a voice that was as close to a mimic as he could manage. "_Yes, I Ronald Fucktard Weasley swear on my lack of honour to uphold Harry Much Better Man Than Me In Every Way Potter's_ secrets. _Whoosh._"

Harry breathed on Ron, aping the settling of an oath.

"There - it's a ritual seal now. Merlin, even _pretending _to be you makes me sick. It's fine, though, don't worry about me. I'll get my wife to lick the stain of you from my tongue later. She's good at that sort of thing. _I know!_…who would have guessed? You're looking at the luckiest wizard alive here, Ron. Hermione's such a great girl…and her mouth…wow…just wow."

Harry flicked another lazy spell at Ron just for the sake of it. It was sort of pointless. Ron had reached the zenith of his pain. There was a glass ceiling for these sorts of things…and Harry had smashed through it with his _second_ spell. It was worth halting the assault just to have Ron be lucid enough to hear his taunts now.

"But, do you know what the absolute best thing about being married to my soul mate is?" Harry went on. "Did I mention she's my soul mate? I can't remember. Anyway, she's my soul mate. There's a lot to cover, you're just going to have to throw me a bone if I miss anything. Cheers, buddy.

"Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, I was reminding you that you punched, kicked, raped, and threw down the stairs to your basement - where you starved and tortured and left to freeze, in winter, in just her underwear - my _soul mate_. Amongst other crimes against her. There isn't a punishment _devisable_ that would come close to enacting justice for even _half_ of that in my world. And I've been trying for _ages_ to come up with something suitable. What's that? You'd just _love_ to hear what I've come up with so far? Man, this is just like Divination back in the day. Make shit up and laugh at how funny it is."

Harry pocketed his wand and sat on his haunches near Ron, who was groaning pathetically.

"So, you're going to like my creativity on this, so you might want to listen up. I've been thinking really hard. So, here's what I've come up with so far.

"There's a big show on at the Palladium tonight, marking the birthday of the first spawn old Tom had with that weirdo Marietta Edgecomb. I don't know why no one invited _me, _I love a bit of theatre. But, I digress. I was pretty cross at not getting tickets, to tell the truth, mate, so I've had a bit of a tantrum about it, I'm afraid.

"I'm actually channelling your inner spirit, Ron. I don't want _anyone_ to have something if I can't have it, just like you. So, right now, as we speak…well, as _I_ speak…I have a team of crack German and Swiss Hit Wizards, from my friends at the ZGD, that I let into Britain early this morning, going around the Palladium. They are rigging it with high-energy magical explosives - there may even be a hidden Fiendfyre spell or two, I just can't remember, so sorry - to go off just as the show starts.

"I understand there will be lots of your Death Eater buddies attending. And that twat of a sister of yours. But don't worry. She wont be killed in the blast. Me and Hermione are heading there soon, see, and this is where the best bit about having her as a wife and soul mate is. I get to give her presents whenever I want.

"And tonight, for a really _special_ gift, I'm going let her kill your sister…_before the show_ starts. Then the magical bombs will just blow her dirty body to bits, but that's just window dressing, really."

Ron made sounds of protest, but he was powerless to do anything but groan.

"Oh, but don't worry," said Harry. "You wont have to worry about this for a couple of days. Here's why."

Harry stood and took Ron by the scruff of his soul. It was cold, fluid. Like trying to hold onto a slippery ghost. But the runes Harry had cast on his hands gave him grip enough. He dragged Ron's sorry spirit to the flapping Veil, and knelt down close.

"Know what this is?" Harry breathed dangerously, his jokey tone obliterated. "It's a portal to the _other side_. I've been there. Five years ago. Your big mate Tommy Riddle sent me. Do you know…can you possibly have even the _tiniest_ inkling what it's like…to go there…and come _back?_ No, of course you don't. You're a complete fucktard.

"So, let me educate you. It's _hell_. Excruciating mental torture. It's the single worst experience of my fucking life. It cost me my mind. I may never get it back. I have pieces of a fractured psyche held together by fucking sellotape. And I've had powerful mind magic and ritual to preserve my sanity. Fuck knows what a mind would be like without that.

"I know…let's find out."

And Harry, without hesitation, pushed Ron's head through the Veil. His broken screams were lost, somewhere between this world and the silence of the other.

* * *

Harry and Hermione stood in the shadow of the London Eye, watching the waters of the Thames ebb and flow beneath the bridge. Tourists flashed their camera phones at Big Ben, red Buses with loud slogans roared past and street vendors offered their wares along the riverbank. All the while, armed police still patrolled the streets of the Capital. Muggle Britain was still in a state of mourning after the murder of their monarch, and security had never been tighter.

Harry checked the time on the illuminated face of the famous old clock.

"We wont have long," he breathed to Hermione, as they descended the steps toward Westminster tube station. "Five, maybe ten minutes. No more."

"Plenty of time," Hermione whispered back. "I just want to make _certain_ she's dead. I don't intend to stretch it out. I can't stand the skank. I don't want to breathe the air her filthy breath will pollute."

"Kill strategy. One more time."

"Twin blade spring knife, right in the back," Hermione recited with a swift breath. "Pop open the mechanism and puncture her lungs. While she's drowning in her own blood, conjure ropes, hang her from the balcony. Then, find one of her spawn. Take his blood. Then away home to work on a healing antidote for you."

"That's my girl," said Harry. "I'll be right with you the whole time. If we run into trouble, don't stand and fight. The bombs will go off at 8pm…whether we are out of there or not."

"Fine. We Apparate at 7.59 then," said Hermione. "I want to kill her, but she's not worth _dying_ over."

"Right. How's the Polyjuice feeling?"

"Minging," said Hermione. "Tastes like Goblin Piss. Or so I'm told. "Why couldn't I have had an Invisibility Tuxedo made, like yours?"

"It takes months to spell the fabric," Harry explained. "You have to do it in clumps of fibres. Takes ages. Besides, we're only going in for nine minutes. This thing cost sixty-thousand Galleons. I've used it loads of times."

"It fucking _what!_" Hermione cried. "Right, that's it. No more extravagant clothes purchases. I'm taking over family finances. You can't be trusted not to fritter our money away."

"Yes, you're quite right," said Harry. "The Lily Potter Centre for Abused Witches needs all the Knuts it can get!"

Hermione huffed. "I'm not accepting that as legitimate win, by the way."

Harry laughed. "We bet you couldn't go a week without crying. This is day six. You cried, I win, we name the centre after my mum. That was the deal."

"You cheated, you told me you were dying," Hermione protested. "I was a tad upset at the news."

"I _am_ dying," Harry pointed out, fairly.

"Not for long," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "We're going to cure you after tonight. Then…it's best Two out of Three."

"You're just going to keep going till you win, aren't you?"

"Now you're catching on!" Hermione grinned. "Right, Apparate on three."

A three count later and Harry, invisible as he was, led Hermione to the second level balcony boxes. The narrow corridor outside was, thankfully, empty. There were five booths this side. Ginny owned Box Three. Dietmar and his ZGD Agents had told Harry ten minutes ago that she was there, standing and milking the acknowledgements of the other Death Eater families as they entered, like some sort of Dark Queen.

"Ready?" Harry breathed.

Hermione nodded. Harry eased open the door to the booth and stole inside, while Hermione hung back against the corridor wall. She heard Ginny admonish one of her children for not locking it properly, and the door began to close again. Hermione blocked it with her foot, letting the door bounce back open, and she darted through.

Hermione looked around. Ginny was facing the crowds, waving regally to them as they filed in, turned away from her spawn. The one who had been sent to close the door looked up. Hermione bit in a gasp…for his eyes were just black. No colour, no feeling…no _nothing_. But he _looked_ like a child. His face twitched in surprise at her sudden appearance.

And he went to speak.

There was a quick wisp of air, a dim puff of light, and suddenly both he, and the other boy, sat in a seat to the left, froze in place as Harry's silent spell hit them both. Hermione wasted no time. She drew her blade, stole up stealthily on Ginny, then cast a Silencing Charm on her.

No-one would hear her scream.

"Good evening, Ginevra," Hermione whispered in her ear…then she drove the knife down hard beneath Ginny's shoulder blades. "The Potter family would like to say _hello_."

Ginny Weasley tensed in shocked pain as the knife penetrated her, then twitched violently as the blade mechanism snapped open inside her chest cavity, sending a blade into each of her lungs. Hermione held her tight and close, pinning her arms down as she tried to struggle.

"Don't fight it," Hermione breathed into her ear. "It'll all be over soon. I just wanted you to know it was me who killed you. And know this also…I'm going to kill your kids, too, and your cunt brother for all the hurt he caused to me. Harry's already killed Charlie, Percy, Bill and Arthur. The Weasley's are finished. Goodnight, sweet Ginny."

Hermione stepped back, conjured a tight noose around Ginny's neck, fastened it with an unmoveable Sticking Charm…and kicked her body over the balcony railings.

Uproar. It erupted loud beneath them. People screamed and shouted, pointing up at Ginny's hopelessly kicking corpse as the life drained out of her.

"Thirty seconds," Harry yelled over the din.

Hermione turned to the children...and gasped in surprise. They were _utterly_ identical. They might have have been clones. Hermione took her wand to the one boy's throat…and she hesitated. _She couldn't do it. _This was an abomination, an abhorration of a child…but it still _was_ a child. Still looked like one. Hermione's wand shook in her stilted grip.

"Fifteen…" Harry cried. "Hermione…love! Come on."

Love…_Harry_…Hermione woke from her slumber. She dropped her wand and slashed the boy's palm. He cried out in pain, but Hermione pushed the cutting screech from her mind. She sucked out a vial full of blood with her wand, screwed on a cap, and stood up just as Harry snatched her by the arm and Apparated her away.

Sixty seconds later, and one half of Diagon Alley was confined to the history books, as it was hit with an explosion so furious it was a tale to be told in _both_ the London's that felt it.


	18. The Lost Horcrux

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry and Hermione perched themselves on the edge of Celesca's bed, Harry behind Hermione with his arms around her waist. They were breathing in synchronised rhythm, which pleased them both. Harry wondered vaguely if Hermione could feel his heart beating against her spine. As much as he loved their passion, their explosive sex, just holding her like this was equally as intense for him, albeit in a much more tender sort of way.

Luna was sat on the other side of the bed, smoothing Celesca's fringe. It was growing close to her eyes and would need a trim soon. She brushed it back delicately, picked a stray hair from her moon-milky skin, then leant down to place a motherly kiss on her forehead.

Celesca turned her hopeful eyes up to her mother. "Will I sleep tonight, Mummy? Without the black-haired lady coming for me?"

Luna turned at looked at Hermione, and it was she who answered. "You can sleep soundly, beautiful girl. _She_ wont hurt you ever again. And if anyone _else_ tries to hurt you in your dreams, you just come and tell me or Harry and we will go and sort them out for you."

"Thank you, Lady Hermione," said Celesca, yawning broadly. She worked her jaw with her tiredness, then snuggled down into her fluffy quilt with a contended little mewl. The adults rose from the bed, Hermione added a protective kiss to Luna's own, and they made to leave the bedroom.

Hermione reached for the light rune, but Luna snatched at her wrist.

"No, leave it on, please," she whispered quickly. "She's terribly afraid of the dark."

Harry felt his heart bleed. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was with bringing such a young girl into a ritual situation, it might be too much for her, but he had to find a way to help her. Maybe something lower key, something just to let her have a _normal_ night's sleep. It wasn't right that a child should have to endure such nightmares as Celesca did.

After all, Harry was a powerful adult and _his_ nightmares were hard enough to cope with.

But, at least she would sleep soundly for tonight. Harry, on the other hand, knew he _couldn't_ sleep. It was borderline impossible. He was just far too energised. He kept running through the events of the evening in his mind. From Hermione's pitch perfect killing of Ginny to the fireworks of the Palladium's destruction…it was like a perfect dream where everything had gone like clockwork.

And Ginny Weasley was dead.

Harry fist-pumped at the very thought. The most corrupt woman he'd ever come across was dead. The bitch who had love potioned him during his sixth school year, who had actively worked against him ever noticing Hermione - to the point that even _she_ thought he never would - was no more. He wasn't even sorry that it hadn't been more strung out. That was how he wanted it.

The vision of her writhing and kicking helplessly, as she dangled over that balcony, choking on Hermione's noose…that was the kind of thing to produce a _Patronus_ with.

Harry thought about all these things, as he watched Hermione going through her bed routine, when they were alone in their room. Scrubbing her teeth, pulling on her nightie, running a brush pointlessly through her hair…all so normal, yet somehow adorable, too. What had he done to earn such luck? To have a front row seat to the intimate nuances of the most incredible woman he could ever know.

"I love you. Do you know that?" Harry asked, almost in wonder that he could say the words.

Hermione smiled back, then grimaced as her brush got stuck. "I have a fair idea, yeah. Any particular reason for this sudden declaration? What have you done…or what are you _going_ to do!?"

Harry laughed and moved to the bed, where he curled up to wait for his wife. "No reason. I just can't remember if I told you today, that's all."

"You don't have to tell me every day," said Hermione. "It'd be nice if you _did_ but I know you have a lot on your mind, so it's okay if you forget every now and then. I _know_ how much you love me. Just don't make a habit of forgetting to remind me!"

Hermione quirked Harry a grin and slid onto the bed with him. "How did I do tonight?"

"You were incredible," said Harry, picking at a knot Hermione had missed in her curls. "How are you feeling, though? That kill was up close and personal…and very hands on."

Hermione huffed. "I'm only sorry I didn't get my_ hands _around her throat. I think I'd have quite liked to have _felt_ the life bleeding out of her. But, time was short and our window was narrow. So, I'll just have to accept this and learn to be satisfied with it."

"Merlin…this side of you," Harry whispered in slight awe. "Where the hell did it come from?"

"Conditioning, I suppose," said Hermione, leaning back on the headboard. "You said you conditioned yourself to be calm around baby Alison, whereas I've been conditioned to be easy around violence. Maybe in later life I'll have some regrets, but right now there's _nothing_ that I'm not prepared to do."

Harry looked over wickedly at her and slid under his sheets. "I'm really glad you said that…come on, come to bed, honey."

Hermione smiled vampishly, and obeyed the command…

* * *

The next morning found Harry and Hermione leant over a softly simmering cauldron in Cassie's potions lab. Making an antidote for Harry's scar and his poisoned blood was a tricky endeavour, and they had to get it right at their first try. They didn't have an endless supply of Riddle's blood to test with, so the potion had to be perfect first time.

It was a _very_ fine margin to work within.

"What we have to ensure," said Cassie, pondering her mixture. "Is that your blood is completely cleared of the infection. We'll have to take samples of your blood, Harry, and see if we can't get it to form its own antibodies, which will attack Riddle's evil essence in your system."

"So that he is essentially killing himself…in me?" Harry queried.

"Exactly," said Cassie. "We have your blood thinning potion, which we already know is very good at _limiting_ the spread of infection. But I don't know if it can be adapted to _attack_ it."

"No, we've never managed that before, have we?" Harry pondered. "And I can't see how simply adding Riddle's blood to it will make any difference."

"No, I agree," said Cassie. "But - and don't hate me for this - that is the most potent potion I've ever brewed. I'm not sure _what_ will work, if we assume that wont. If I did, we'd have already done it."

Hermione drummed her fingers against her chin. "Harry…what about one of your alchemical elixirs? They must be more powerful than standard potions."

"They are," Harry confirmed. "But the White Elixir, which is the most powerful I've successfully made so far, is really only effective for physical injuries. It's soothed aches, fixed bones and cuts, that sort of thing. And, just like the blood thinning potion, I've taken that plenty of times. If _that_ was the solution, it would have made more of a dent in Riddle's little legacy on me by now."

"Most powerful…so far?" Hermione quirked.

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"So…there's more? Something you haven't done yet?"

"Well, I've never made it as far as The Elixir of Life," said Harry. He thought quietly for a moment, deeply pensive. "I suppose…_that_ could help the process. It cures _all_ disease after all. But I've never even gotten close…and unless you know someone who has a Philosopher's Stone they want to lend us, we're kind of limited on that score."

"Harry, love, stop being so bloody negative about this!" Hermione cried in frustration.

"I'm just being practical."

"No, you're being a dickhead," said Hermione. "Don't you see…don't you get it? All the things you've been trying to tell _me_…about alchemy, our joining, our _chemical wedding?_ We _are_ the Philosopher's Stone, you said. You need me to complete your Opus, to be _part_ of it. Well, as yet, you haven't _made_ me part of it. These things that you have failed to achieve so far, you failed because you were doing them _alone_.

"But you aren't alone anymore. You never will be again. I'm here with you, a part of you. So let me into these alchemical processes of yours. Take my power, take my blood, my essence, my _love_…whatever you need. And lets take this final step together, create The Stone, The Elixir…and use it to heal you completely. Can you do it?"

Harry looked hard at his wife. His heart was beating so fast for her, he was sure it might burst right out of his chest. He considered her words, her proclamation…and he felt stunned by them. He stepped close and brought his mouth down to hers.

"Yes, yes I can," he said as they broke breathlessly apart. "There's a full moon tonight. At midnight, we'll begin the transmutation process."

"Well, if _that_ works, it's one part down," said Cassie, flushing at being witness to the passion of the Potters. "But what about the other part…the physical wound?"

"I have a feeling that if we can clean the wound, rid it of the surface Dark Magic, we should be able to close the flesh wound like any other," said Hermione.

"I agree," said Harry. "We could use the Elixir-blood mix as a salve, which - assuming it works at all - would rid the wound of the magic that stops us closing it now."

"But, what about the side-effects of such a Dark curse?" asked Cassie.

"What side-effects?" asked Hermione.

"Well, take Neville for example," said Cassie. She cocked a curious eye at Hermione.

Harry guffawed. "It's fine, Cass, she knows all about _that_."

"Oh. Of course she does," Cassie grinned. "Well, when his…er…_manhoo_d was reattached, it didn't work at all, did it? His body pretty much rejected it. He could just about urinate through it, but nothing else. No blood flow, no sensitivity, no nerve signals. We had to spell it...just so that it wouldn't rot, remember?"

"I see what you mean," said Harry. "My scar is ugly enough. Having half my dead flesh peeling off wouldn't be much better."

"Exactly," said Cassie. "But also…we _could_ regrow your other eye. If we could get this to work, you'd be back to normal. Though…that would be _weird_."

Harry laughed at that. "It definitely would. I don't know what normal_ is_ for me. Min? Any ideas?"

"You always were a little strange, honey," Hermione grinned. "But having a full face would be a start. Is it odd that I'd miss your lop-sided smiles a bit, though?"

"Pretty odd, yeah," said Harry. "But think how much better I could kiss you with my lips all intact!"

"You kiss me pretty well as it is," said Hermione, fairly.

"You really do, Harry!" Cassie agreed. "If _that_ was anything to go by."

"And that was just a _peck_, really," Hermione swooned.

"It's a pity we haven't got anyone to test the potion on first," said Harry. "I've healed Neville and Angharad…do you think anyone fancies going out and losing a limb to Dark Magic in the name of research?"

Hermione suddenly became excitedly animated. "Harry, Harry…what about an _elf_ as a test subject!"

"Sally! Of course," said Harry. "Did we keep her arm?"

"Yeah, I think we did!" said Cassie. "We put it in stasis, just in case. But then we saw how Dark the magic was that severed it, and we just forgot about it. It should still be there."

"How long till this part of the potion is done?" asked Harry.

"An hour, two at most," Cassie replied.

"Good. When you have it ready, bring a sample up to the Recuperation Room. I'll fetch Rhian and Sally and we'll see if we cant _give an elf a hand_!"

Hermione shook her head and looked pityingly at her husband. "Harry…that was _terrible_, honey, even for you!"

* * *

Enola and Neville were messing around when Hermione entered the paddock in the garden. The unicorns were grazing merrily nearby, chasing and frolicking with Harry's Bayard, Bavieca, who could move so fast she was pretty much a blur. Hermione watched in complete wonder at the display, delighting in the natural fun these animals were having.

Then she looked down. And frowned.

"Where the hell are they?" she asked to herself.

The little map in her hand responded. It glowed bright orange, highlighting the names _Enola Longbottom and Neville Longbottom_ and the little dots that represented them. Hermione had been reduced to going to Myfanwy, who was chief of palace security, to try and find the elusive husband and wife, who Hermione had scoured the house for. According to the map, they were in the paddock, but all Hermione could see was a coal-black owl and a bottle-green dragonfly she was chasing.

Hermione huffed out a little giggle. Of course…

"Ennie! Nev! Can you come down, please? I need to talk to you."

The owl fluttered down from the rafters, touching the ground as the most beautiful witch Hermione knew, and the dragonfly was close behind, her proud husband in human form. Hermione huffed again.

"You never told me _you_ were an Animagus!" Hermione quirked at Enola.

"It never really came up," said Enola, smoothing out her hair. "We don't often play in our animal forms. It hurts Nev to change, see."

"Fucking _kills_ if you must know," said Neville.

"Why do it then?" asked Hermione.

"Oh it's worth it, when I become the dragonfly," Neville explained. "It's such a sense of freedom, to be able to fly. And there's just something more…I don't know…_in tune with nature_ when you're in your animal form. It's worth the discomfort of the transformation."

"Now, for _proper_ Animagi, people who are _good_ at it," Enola teased. "Like me and Harry, for example, the transformation doesn't hurt at all after the first couple of times. Nev's just never quite gotten the hang of changing smoothly."

"_You_ try squashing down to the size of a dragonfly!" Neville complained. "Let's be honest, darling, you can't weigh much less as an owl than you do as a witch!"

"There's a compliment in there somewhere," Enola grinned. "In any case, don't use that as an excuse. You _chose_ to be a dragonfly. It's not my fault that you made it harder for yourself."

"I _like_ dragonflies," Neville protested in half a whimper.

"So, let me get this right…you _chose_ your animal forms?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes," said Enola, brightly. "Didn't you know that was how it worked?"

"Honestly, no," said Hermione. "I always assumed a witch or wizard was predisposed to become whatever animal was naturally attached to them. Actually, that sounds a bit silly saying it out loud. Why would anyone have a specific animal attached to them?"

"That's a good bit of learning on the fly," said Neville. "I think there are some animals that a wizard finds it easier to invoke, based on their own personality. Harry, for example, is obviously very much a lion, in so many ways. When he summoned the lion spirit, it came to him as if it was Harry's _right_ to call it. Not everyone is so fortunate, and a wizard can always pick an animal of his choice, but then he has to commit to a tougher process to invoke it."

"Of course," said Hermione, nodding in understanding. "Harry once told me that his father and Sirius became Animagi and picked large animals that could run and control Remus Lupin as a werewolf. How could I have forgotten that? The first time we saw Remus and Sirius in their animal forms was the first time Harry and I…"

Hermione stopped, blushing furiously.

"The first time you what?" asked Neville, suspiciously. "You never _kissed_ in school, did you? You'd better not say you did. I lost ten Galleons to Dean Thomas over that."

"Over what?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist!" Neville replied, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But I had a bet with Dean that you and Harry would kiss or start going out at some point during our time at Hogwarts. We kept trying to catch you at it, but by seventh year, when it was clear you weren't coming back, I had to concede and pay up. Of course, that cunt Alecto Carrow saw it, took Dean's winnings and gave us ten magical lashes each for illegal gaming, which she made up on the spot as a new school rule, just to give her a reason to punish us."

Enola winced and smoothed Neville's arm consolingly.

"Whatever happened to her?" asked Hermione. "I never heard from them when I was around Ron and his Death Eater cronies."

Neville smiled in fond remembrance. "It was one of the first missions Harry took me on after he came back from Germany. We kidnapped the Carrows, Harry tortured and killed the husband in a mock trial for his abuses against the kids of Hogwarts. I made Alecto watch, then I slit her throat. It was my first _proper_ kill of the war, and it felt _fucking _good!"

"Okay. So…back to this _bet!"_ Hermione pressed.

"What about it?" said Neville, unabashed. "_Everyone_ thought you were together…or were going to _get_ together…at some point. I thought it during Third Year. You just seemed so much closer. You spent more time together without Ron, and looked _totally_ comfortable like that. Which was weird for boys and girls that age. And Harry talked about you a lot. I don't know if he _knew_ he was, but I could hardly have a conversation with him without your name coming up.

"It wasn't anything _romantic_, but we'd be in class and he'd say things like - '_Oh, Hermione wouldn't brew the potion like that_, _she'd do this instead, which is better,_' or '_Hermione says that bit of History of magic is wrong, because it's mer-people sourced, and they can't write anything down on account of their webbed hands…_'. Stuff like that. It was like you were always on his mind.

"So I made the bet with Dean. I was _certain_ I was going to win after the Yule Ball. When I asked you to go, and you said you had a date but it was a secret, I was sure that Harry must be it. Because _he_ didn't have a date either. It made sense. That was going to be the _big announcement, _the night that you _finally_ admitted to the school that you were a couple. I told Dean and he agreed. Even had the Galleons in his pocket waiting for you to walk into the hall together. Then it all went tits up."

Hermione blushed. "Funnily enough, I _was_ waitingfor Harry to ask me, but he didn't. So Viktor Krum came along and I was so surprised I said yes without really thinking."

"I bet it was a surprise," said Neville darkly. "A seventeen year old asking out a girl he thought was _fourteen_. Fucking scummy perv, if you ask me."

"Well, he did grab my arse a bit more than I was comfortable with when we were dancing," Hermione recalled.

"For fuck's sake don't tell Harry that," said Neville warningly. "He'll wipe the country of Bulgaria off the map to find Krum, if he learns he took advantage of you in any sort of way. Especially like _that_."

Hermione smiled fondly. Neville meant well, but to have such a destructive force to call to her defence was a little breathtaking, and more flattering than she could ever put words to.

"So, if you and Harry _didn't_ kiss that night you're talking about," Enola went on. "What _did_ you do?"

"Oh, we didn't _do_ anything," said Hermione. "More's the pity. It was just the first time Harry opened up to me…about his desire for a family. We'd never been…well…that _intimate_ before. I've always seen it as a watershed moment in our relationship."

Enola smiled fondly. "And now you're fulfilling that dream…_with_ him. That's just too _cute_, Min!"

"But, Hermione," said Neville, as Hermione dealt with a birth of butterflies in her womb. "Have you never thought about becoming an Animagus yourself? You're certainly powerful enough. And it's a useful skill to have at your disposal."

Hermione considered that a moment. The truth was she never _had_ given it much thought. Ron would have frowned on it, drawing suspicion onto herself. And she'd always just tried to get through the day as quietly as possible when she was under his iron heel.

"No, I've never really thought about it," she replied eventually. "What would I be, do you think?"

"A dire she-wolf?" asked Neville. "You've shown a vicious side to yourself, after all."

"No, that doesn't seem right to me," said Enola, pacing around, sizing Hermione up. "I'm onside with the big cat theme…and you do have the aggressive streak of a wolf...but there's something _regal_ about you. Wolves are vicious, but largely feral. No…I think…and it would be quite fitting, too…if you chose to become a _lioness_."

"To be Harry's perfect mate!" cried Neville. "Oh yes! That's definitely it. A lioness. Tick that box, hun."

Hermione blushed and felt her heart begin to speed as the idea took root.

"Do you really think I could?" she breathed softly. "Become a…a _lioness_?"

"A witch of your power?" Enola exclaimed. "Absolutely."

"What would I need?" asked Hermione. "To start, I mean."

"Totems, things connecting you to nature, to Harry - as his mate - and the lioness spirit," said Neville.

"Ooh Nev, Nev!" said Enola, excitedly. "Surely she could take a cutting of _Harry_'_s_ mane…in his lion form. That would give her a direct link to him _and_ the lion spirit!"

"Yeah, yeah it would!" Neville replied. "Do you think Harry would let you do that?"

Hermione grinned. "My husband will do as he's told."

"Oh Min! This is going to be so exciting!" Enola squealed. "I'll help you. I'll show you the books you need, to learn the spells and meditation and things. It's going to be so great. We should start tonight."

"No, not tonight," said Hermione, darkly. "I have something else I need to do tonight. That's why I came to find you, actually."

"Okay," said Enola, cautiously. "What is it?"

"Well, this whole thing with healing Harry's scar and things with Tom Riddle's blood has got me thinking…maybe we can heal his other wounds the same way."

"How so?"

"Harry has a lot of mental scars," said Hermione. "But he's not been able to heal them with any meditation or magic he's tried so far. But there doesn't seem much difference between his scars from Riddle, and some of his other ones. So, I was thinking, if we can get the blood of his mental torturers, maybe we can make a physical antidote for his mental wounds."

Enola's expression turned fiercely dark. "You're thinking of his Muggle relatives, aren't you? Take their blood, heal Harry, maybe break their link to Riddle's Horcrux…if they are part of its defence?"

"Even if they are not," said Hermione darkly. "They tortured my Harry as a child. I can't abide them to be alive in the world with that guilt on their heads. They deserve to die. I intend to make that happen."

"I'll get my cloak," said Enola firmly. "Nev…open the wards for us, will you darling? And, if Harry asks where we've gone, tell him we've popped out on _family_ business."

"Okay. But you're taking Fan and Ann with you, no objections," said Neville, fully steeled for the act ahead. "Harry will flay me if he finds out I let you leave without an armed escort. But Hermione…there is just one, little, _slight_ snag in this scheme of yours."

"Which is?"

"How do you intend to kill the Dursleys...if they are _already dead_?"

"Oh…yeah," said Enola, her face dropping as she remembered. "They were murdered…years ago. I forgot that."

"You see, I don't think they _were,_" said Hermione shrewdly. "I've been thinking a lot about this, and I'm convinced Riddle would have used them as Horcrux Protectors. He couldn't get to Harry at Privet Drive, and he would have been too lazy to find out the truth behind that. So, I acted on a hunch and had Celesca take a look for me. She's good like that. But she was very confused. She said there are three people there…but _not there_."

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Neville.

"I have two theories," said Hermione. "The first one is that he _did_ kill them, and that Celesca can sense their ghosts. In which case, I need Enola's knowledge of ritual."

"For what?"

"To perform a magical _exorcism_ on Privet Drive," said Hermione. "Send their cruel spirits into purgatory."

"And if they aren't ghosts?" asked Enola.

"They I think they aren't dead at all, just trapped inside," said Hermione. "Perhaps on some sort of plane of existence created by Tom Riddle's magic."

"You mean...like a giant fucking _Horcrux_!" Neville breathed.

"That's exactly what I mean," Hermione confirmed.

"What…the whole _house?_" Enola gasped.

"A whole world maybe, who knows," Hermione speculated.. "We can only guess. The house had a magical protection when Harry lived there, made it invisible to Tom Riddle's eyes. There would have been some residue of that left behind when the enchantment lifted. I think Riddle found a way to project a different image out onto the world, even going so far as to make the neighbours _think_ a murder had happened there."

"Just like when Muggles around Hogwarts see a cordoned off ruin and Keep Out signs instead of the school!" cried Neville.

"That's where I got the idea from," said Hermione. "Tom Riddle thought of Hogwarts as his home. It makes sense he would try to duplicate its protections."

"Which is why he used Gryffindors Seal as his own Horcrux," Enola nodded. "It _protected_ the castle…so he thinks it will protect his soul."

Hermione nodded. "Which it wont, because Riddle isn't the true Heir of Gryffindor…and it will only answer to _either one_ of them. Keep that sword of yours sharp, Nev. You may need to break open an ancient Seal with it soon."

* * *

"What do you mean _family business_?"

Harry paused, the potion-salve vibrating in his hand. Angry confusion was seeping out of him and Arianwen, who was holding Sally the house-elf's severed arm, watched him in fitful concern.

"That's what they said," Neville returned, baulking in the face of the rising tide of Harry rage.

"And you _let_ them go?" Harry fumed. "Nev…we just killed one-hundred-and-twelve Death Eaters, including Antonin Dolohov and Ginny Weasley, and you've let our wives just walk out into the world on the back of that?!"

"They have Fan and Ann with them," Neville offered weakly.

"Oh, for _fucks sake!"_ Harry yelled. "I don't believe you…I don't _fucking_ believe you!"

"Harry…this arm wont survive long out of magical stasis," said Arianwen, quietly. "If we are going to do this, it has to be now."

"Yes…yes you're right," said Harry, mastering his anger. He turned to Neville. "But as soon as we are done here, you and I are going straight after our girls. Honestly, Nev. Sometimes I think you've got rocks in your head."

Neville huffed. "Have _you_ tried telling Hermione _no_?"

Harry smirked. "Do I _look_ like I have a death wish?"

"Well, imagine that with Enola in tandem," said Neville. "That's beyond even _your _strength of resistance, mate."

Harry nodded and grinned as he conceded that. "Right, lets get this done. Cass - keep checking on Sally's vitals, just in case.

"Is this dangerous, Master Harry?" asked Rhian, as Cassie began diagnostic spell casting on Sally, who had been put into magical sedation for the procedure.

Harry considered the question. "I don't know, actually. I've never done this before."

Rhian squeaked and pulled on her ears as the anxiety washed through her.

"It'll be fine, Rhian," Harry soothed. "The worst that will happen is that Sally's arm wont work at all…which is no different than she is now. Cassie's just keeping an eye on her, that's all."

"Rhian trusts you, Master Harry," said the fraught little elf.

"So, Arianwen," said Harry, turning to Enola's mother. "I'm thinking to just apply this like a cream. Do you agree?"

"Yes, work it in nice and deep," Arianwen replied, as Harry began to apply the salve. "Good. Don't scrimp on it. Might as well use it all. Here…you take her arm…and I'll begin the reattachment procedure."

Harry did as he was told, following Arianwen's instructions on positioning and adjustment until the arm was just right. Then the medi-witch began a series of delicate spells, reattaching bone and sinews and the arterial pathways. It was slow work, taking over an hour to completely link everything back together. By the end of it, Harry's own arms felt like they were about to fall off from holding Sally's in position for so long.

"There…I think that should do it," said Arianwen, stepping back.

"How will we know if it's worked?" asked Harry.

"I've rejoined everything," said Arianwen. "But the veins are still closed at the connection points. If I open them up, blood should flow in and the arm will come back to life. If this has worked."

"Do it," Harry ordered.

Enola's mother nodded, then swept her wand over Sally's shoulder. Rhian looked on cautiously, Cassie cast her own wand over the arm…then grinned up at Harry.

"Blood flow, Harry…we have blood flow!" she sang.

"Wake Sally up...we have to know for sure," said Harry.

Cassie cast the spell, Sally stirred sleepily and looked around.

"Did it work, Master Harry?" she asked groggily. "Does Sally have two hands again?"

"You tell me," said Harry, ticking Sally's flat hand and grinning as her fingers curled up at his touch.

"Ooh, Master Harry! Yous fixed me! Yous fixed me!" Sally cried, tears swelling in her bulbous eyes.

"Then gives yous Mummy elf a hug…with two arms!" said Rhian, drawing Sally into an embrace.

"Well done, ladies," Harry smiled at Cassie and Arianwen.

Just then there was a _whoosh_ of Apparition, and Luna materialised with a very fraught-looking Celesca in tow.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Harry, but this couldn't wait," said Luna seriously.

"What is -"

"Master Harry you have to go…go right now," said Celesca urgently.

"Go? Go where?" said Harry, who was up on his feet in preparation.

"Your old house, the one you grew up in," said Celesca.

Harry started in surprise. Of all the locations he might have expected, that was way down on the list.

"Privet Drive? But wh -"

"Ladies Hermione and Enola are there," said Celesca frantically. "They've gone to sort out your nasty relatives. But they aren't alone. The lady with the wild hair - snake-man's favourite - she's gone there, too…and the dead man with the long beard and hair. And they're going to _kill _them if you don't hurry!"

Harry's throat dropped into his stomach. Neville looked enraged.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he hissed. "She's mine."

"And Dumbledore," Harry completed. "Let's go."

Harry cast a Summoning spell and Excalibur flew to his hand as he raced down the main staircase, Neville hot on his heels.

* * *

The big square houses of Privet Drive had barely changed in the six years since Harry Potter had been whisked away, in seven different forms, with Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters in hot pursuit. The destroyed ruin of Number Four looked exactly as Hermione remembered it from three years ago, the last time she was here. There was a crumbling wall on one side, exposing all the rooms, shattered windows, fire damage…the building was nothing more than a derelict shell.

Oh how looks could be deceiving.

Up close, Hermione could _feel_ the fallacy now. The place was thick with magic. It sat heavy on the air and Hermione shuddered as its Dark signature passed over her. She walked up the path, stopped a moment at the front step, where her husband had been left as a baby by Dumbledore, and she frowned at how fucking stupid that was. Childcare 101, that.

And the dumb old coot had been allowed to run a _school!_ Honestly, the magical world had some _serious_ design flaws.

"This place has known some _proper_ magic," Enola whispered as she followed Hermione across the threshold. "Serious magic…and Dark as fuck."

"You feel that, too?" asked Hermione. Enola nodded. "We should be careful."

"We'll guard the gardens," said Angharad. "Fan, you take the front, I'll head round the back."

They parted with a kiss for luck, and spilt up. Hermione moved into the house, wand in hand and crackling with her magic, as Enola trod along in her wake, her own whitewood wand glowing in the gathering dusk. Hermione shivered as the magic of the house entered into a silent battle with her own, Dark against Light. She could feel it heave and surge against each other, causing a slight breeze to swirl around her body.

"What do you think happened here?" Enola whispered, picking her way through an inch of dust and debris. "I don't sense _death_, but that Dark magic is sticking in the back of my throat and making me heave."

"Me, too," Hermione replied. "I can only imagine this is the lingering residue of Horcrux creation. There isn't much magic that is much worse than that."

They searched the house. The kitchen was ruined, the living room a complete wreck…and then.

"Oh, _no_…" Hermione moaned, leaning down in the hallway…and pulling open the door to the cupboard under the stairs.

"Oh…fuck _me_, Min!" Enola gasped. "Look how _small_ it is in there!"

"They kept him in cramped in here…" Hermione spat out, hot tears building behind her eyes. "For a fucking _decade_! Oh…_Harry_…"

"How can human beings be _so_ cruel…to a child…a _blood relative_ child!" Enola breathed.

Hermione felt a surge of anger sweep through her, driven by her powerful love for Harry. It was vitriolic, potent, it drove back the Dark Magic trying to swarm her.

"Stand back, Ennie."

Enola did as ordered, and Hermione fired seven blasting curses into the space under the stairs, decimating it. She had hoped it would be a cathartic experience, but it didn't erase the echo of Harry's suffering in that tiny, cramped alcove of this hated house. The very air itself would be forever tainted by it, stained with Harry's misery, sodden with the silent tears he dared not show to his tormentors.

"If they aren't dead, I'm going to cut out their still-beating hearts," Hermione promised darkly, as she massaged her own, to offset the throbbing ache that was assaulting her there.

"Min, I don't think there's any point searching," said Enola. "However Harry's relatives are held here, it isn't on our plane of existence. We have to find a way to get into the Horcrux energy field."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "The question is…_how?_"

"If we assume this house _is_ a Horcrux, then how do we get in? How did you get into the others?"

"They were all activated by using the object," said Hermione. "Dumbledore wore a ring, Harry wrote in a diary, that sort of thing."

"But this is a _house_," said Enola. "We can't exactly _live _in it, can we?"

"No…but we can enter through the _front door_," said Hermione. "And…as I'm a Potter…I think my blood will act as the key."

"_Right_…and why would Riddle have put _that_ condition in?"

"I think it would be to trap Harry…or…"

"Or?" asked Enola.

"To trigger an alarm…or a defensive response," said Hermione bluntly.

Enola swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "Should we get help before doing this?"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at her. "Harry once told me you were a Hit Witch of the highest power grade. You aren't afraid of a few Death Eaters, are you?"

Enola grinned wickedly. Power swept through her wand with a buzz of magic. "Are you going to unleash me, my Lady? You know I've been bound and gagged by the Order."

"I do," Hermione smiled back. "But, as I now officially _head_ the Order of Merlin…I think I'll untie your shackles for tonight."

Enola breathed deeply, as her power was released. It surged off her pulsing waves. Hermione fully appreciated just why she'd been restrained so. Her magical level was _astounding_.

"Oh, fuck me that feels good," Enola breathed. "I've missed that. Let's do this."

Hermione led the way back to the front step, cast a little cutting charm onto her finger, then pressed it to the keyhole. The effect was instant. The door swung open with an eerie creak, revealing a _very _different scene to the one Hermione and Enola had just seen.

The house was bright, sunny as if in the throes of a July day. It was neat, ordered, clean to the point of being surgically sterile. Hermione led the way inside, drawn as if by instinct to the cupboard under the stairs. There was a delicate little knock coming from it. Hermione lent down, as a broken little voice spoke through the grate.

"Hello…hello? Is there someone there? Please…I'm _so_ hungry…just a little bread…maybe some cheese…or a little water?...I'm so very thirsty...help me, please…"

Hermione buckled at the sound of child-Harry's broken, starved voice. His pathetic, nervous little knock for help. She couldn't think for her crying, her abject grief. If Enola hadn't prompted her to move, she might have been paralysed there.

"I know what this is," said Enola, sadly. "It's pretty much the same as that place in Harry's mind. It's designed not just to trap his relatives…but to trap _him…_ cripple him with the weight of the memory…as you are now. I think you're channelling that part of Harry you carry around now…reacting as if you were him."

"But how would Riddle know that Harry would react like this?" Hermione sobbed. "Oh, Ennie…my _heart_…it _hurts!"_

"I know, I can see," said Enola, in deepest concern. "Riddle must have interrogated Harry's relatives, found out the truth, then set this up as a trap, in case Harry came to the same conclusion as you did and came for revenge. Come on. We have to find the Dursleys. Kill them, destroy this place. Up you get, Mrs Potter."

Hermione stirred at the use of her married name. She allowed Enola to haul her up, and they began moving through Harry's own personal House of Horrors. Here he was in the kitchen, having his hand held over the flame of the cooker, now in the garden being back-handed so firmly that he was sent toppling over the wooden bench. Then he was ladelling peas to an important client of his Uncle's drill firm, while his own stomach churned and clenched with his hunger.

As each scene faded, Hermione's knees threatened to fail her again. Her tears were ones of furious anger now, and she shuddered to think what she would find anew as they made their way upstairs…and when she found it, she howled aloud. For there was Harry, aged fifteen maybe, tenderly smoothing a moving picture in his large photo album.

A picture of _her_.

"Why wont she write me, Hedwig?" Harry was asking, his voice pained and aching with loneliness. "Of _any_ of them, I didn't think _she'd_ abandon me."

"Oh, Harry! I'm here…I'm right here!"

And Hermione reached for him…and as soon as she touched him, he transformed…into an _Inferi_. Hermione shrieked out in surprise as the reanimated corpse flew at her…sharp fangs bared and ready to strike…

And Enola Longbottom reacted with all the fury that had made her banned from combat work for over three years.

Her wand slashed and cut through the air at incredible speed. Arms, legs, tongue…all flew out in different directions. Black blood splattered the walls. Hermione found the presence of mind to conjure a Shield Charm, but Enola's ferocious burst pushed hard against it, forcing Hermione back into a wall. Enola screeched like a banshee, wild and feral, continuing to cut, until finally she cast an incendiary charm and set the pieces of the Inferi to furious flame.

Then she twirled her wand like a sharp-shooter from the Wild West, blowing at imaginary gun smoke from its tip.

"Fuck _me_ that felt good! I'd forgotten how much!" Enola crowed. "Let's do some more!"

Hermione laughed at her and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Ennie the Kid! You can do two of the three Dursleys, if we ever find them!"

"Oh, goodie," Enola sang. "Poor Harry, though. Did you know he pined for you like that?"

"No, I didn't," Hermione huffed. "He has a _lot_ of explaining to do later. But, I suppose I owe him an apologetic kiss or two, for not telling the Order of the Phoenix to kiss my arse, back when that all happened."

"I'm sure Harry will kiss it for you!" Enola laughed, quirking an eyebrow at her. "What? Did they stop you from contacting him or something?"

"Yeah, for all of that Summer," Hermione confirmed.

"And you just _agreed_ to that?" asked Enola, astonished. "_You_ agreed to stay away from _Harry_? For an entire _Summer_?"

"Don't remind me," Hermione frowned, before adding thoughtfully, "Maybe I owe him three kisses, then."

Enola laughed. "Merlin knows what you must have been like when you saw him again!"

"I think I tried to break his ribs and squeeze the life out of him," said Hermione, remembering. "It was some hug. He had been attacked by Dementors and threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts during that holiday. I thought a bit of a cuddle might be just the tonic. But it was as much for me as it was for him."

"Why? Did you just want to rub your tits against him or what!" Enola hooted.

"Well, there was _that_," said Hermione, flushing furiously. "I'd had a bit of a growth spurt that Summer. But, no, I'd _kissed_ him at the end of our last school year, the last time I'd seen him."

"_What_! I thought you told Nev you didn't?"

"It was only a kiss on the cheek, I don't think it counts," said Hermione.

Enola looked at her curiously. "Was it a _peck_…or a _kiss_?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't a peck," said Hermione, blushing into her hair now. "I lingered on purpose, kept my lips to his cheek just a second more than a friend should have. I dwelt on it all Summer, too…wondering what Harry thought about it. But he didn't bring it up when we met again. Though, in defence of his cluelessness, he had just seen one of our classmates killed and Riddle reborn into his body. He was distracted."

Enola laughed. "That'll do it for you. Poor Harry. Despite everything, all his power and skill and things, he's still such a _boy,_ isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he's _my_ boy," said Hermione. Then she smiled. "And there's value in that!"

Enola hooted out a laugh. "Yeah, there is. You'll have to tell me about Harry in school one day. I bet he was a Prefect and things, wasn't he?"

Hermione frowned. "He _should_ have been. With _me_. Dumbledore took it off him, gave the position to Ron. Ooh, Harry and I would _so_ have gotten together with all that extra alone time. Dumbledore has a _lot_ to answer for."

"Yeah, and leaving Harry to suffer at the hands of these twats is right at the top of the list," Enola hissed angrily. "Come on, last room."

And she kicked open the door. There, in a sort of suspended animation, were the three Dursleys. They were lying in three beds, like coma patients waiting to come around.

Well, _that_ was never going to happen. Not now Hermione Potter had found them.

"I call dibs on the fat boy and the Aunt," said Enola.

"Okay, but I get to do the Uncle first," said Hermione.

"Deal, as long as you use _this_," said Enola. In one movement she summoned a hairbrush from a vanity table nearby, transfiguring it into a serrated-blade knife before it reached her outstretched hand. "I want to see the last beats of his black heart as he dies."

Enola handed the knife to Hermione, who strode to Vernon Dursley, and ripped open his starch-stiffened shirt. She pulsed with anger, with hatred, as she looked at the beetroot red, plump face; at the mouth that had formed so many cutting insults at her love; at the hands that had balled to fists to punch her husband-as-child. Hermione spat on him twice, watching her spittle dribble down the bridge of his nose.

Then, without a second of remorse, Hermione drove the knife in deep and hard into his sternum, cut a jagged circle, then reached into the chest cavity and ripped out the warm, beating organ that she found there.

Vernon's body, held asleep by magic, didn't wake. But it jerked and twitched, and blood flowed freely and formed an astonishing pool around his rotund frame. Hermione looked at the bloody heart in her hand, watched its last beats with curious and callous disinterest. Then she squeezed on impulse, till her fingers pierced the hated flesh. She clenched until the heart was squashed, feeling the life leave it with every ooze of blood down her knuckles.

And in a moment, Vernon Dursley was no more. Hermione scooped his blood into a vial she conjured, ready to brew Harry another cure, then turned to watch the deaths of the other two.

Then Enola began her dark artistry. She started with Dudley, slicing him from scrotum to chin, and armpit to armpit, before folding open his skin and ripping his internal organs out in sequence, humming to herself as she did so. She took cuttings of his heart, his spleen, his intestines, and offered them to Hermione, who stored them in a little box, along with Vernon's blood.

Then she moved to Petunia, scorching her skin from head to toe with a Burning Hex, a hex so hot her flesh bubbled and melted as it fell from her bones. Enola scooped it up like wax, and formed it as a candle - to burn in ritual later. It was a fitting vengeance for all the times Petunia had burned Harry, scolded him with boiling water, taken her clothes iron to his forearms…

Then Enola slit her horse-necked throat, just for all the hatred she'd spewed about her sister, Lily Potter, and about Harry, too.

As Petunia died, and the curse Tom Riddle had cast was broken, the scene around them dissolved, leaving Hermione and Enola in the front garden of the ruined house again. They looked up in surprise, for Angharad and Myfanwy were standing side-by-side, expressions fixed and fierce, wands throbbing with magic, ready, poised, on the verge of attack.

And then Hermione saw why.

"Ah…_Mrs Potter_…we were starting to think you'd never get here!"

* * *

Hermione's breath caught in lungs, her heart speeding in her neck. She looked out at a horror scene - an arc of Death Eaters, maybe thirty or forty of them, all masked and black-robed, all holding flaming torches like a lynch mob. And at the centre of it…the manic figure of Bellatrix Lestrange, her wand drawn and sparkling with furious power. And next to her…the imposing figure of zombie Dumbledore.

Hermione felt her bowels empty at the sight. She closed her eyes at the shame, as the stench of her fear hit her nostrils. Enola turned to her, facing off sternly against her humiliated expression.

"No fear, _Mrs Potter_," said Enola, firmly, cleaning Hermione with a flick of her wand. Hermione smiled her thanks.

"You were foolish to come here tonight, ladies," Bellatrix taunted. "We have been waiting for you."

"No mercy, girls," Enola whispered, the thirst for battle as manic as that of Bellatrix. Her wand was vibrating with magic, eager to lash out. It was building like a dynamo. "Keep tally of how many you take out. None of you will outscore _me…_but that _cunt_ at the centre is mine…I owe her for what she did to my Nev's parents."

"No, she's mine…"

There was a whirlwind of Apparition around the space. For a dozen, maybe twenty new arrivals had appeared and ranged alongside them. There was Oliver Wood, Eloise Midgeon, Jenny and Sally-Anne Perks, Frank and Alice Longbottom, all of Harry's inner circle, Daphne Greengrass was somewhere among the number…and the witch at the head of the party, the one who had spoken, made Bellatrix step back in abject horror as she spoke again.

"No, Enola, my _sister_ belongs to _my_ wand!"

Narcissa Malfoy strode into the No-man's Land between the two forces, as if she hadn't a care in the world.

"Cissa…what are you _doing!_" Bellatrix breathed.

"What I should have done _years_ ago, Bella," Narcissa returned. "Showing my _true_ colours. And those colours are not _all black_."

Then, without preamble, she flicked a spell at Bellatrix so fast and powerful, it slashed across her face, leaving a gash very much like Harry's. Bellatrix's scream might have been heard by Harry himself, back in Wales.

And the fight began.

Enola darted forwards firing off spells as fast as Hermione had ever seen Harry do. Her wand was, essentially, a mirage. She blew two Death Eaters into pieces as she raced into the melee, heading right for Bellatrix, who had recovered now and was duelling fiercely with Narcissa. Hermione saw Fan and Ann race head on into the carnage, roaring like wolves as they took the fight to the enemy.

For a moment, Hermione was held fast, not sure where to go. There were screams and shouts, bangs and blasts, as spells criss-crossed in each in every colour, and in every direction. Then Hermione chose her target. Oliver Wood was hit by a spell and doubled up, and Patrick O'Brien darted forwards into the breach, but he was smashed aside too, by the force of the spell. Hermione looked ahead and saw the reason…both were trying to fight _Dumbledore_…and that wasn't for them.

This was a_ Potter _fight.

Hermione sped forwards, pushing David Pincott out of the path of a jet of green that Dumbledore had sent his way. Then she sent a slicing curse, a blasting hex and a jack-hammer jinx at Dumbledore. They hit him in quick succession and he was rocked backwards by their force. He returned fire, but Hermione conjured her trusty shield and the spell rebounded, giving her time to spin and send another volley at him.

Dumbledore was hit again, but absorbed the blow, returning a jet of orange magic like a spear. Hermione threw up a Shield Charm, which took the impact but knocked her to the ground, where she lay winded a moment. Dumbledore threw a blast of chain fire at her, and Hermione only just rolled away in time. She bumped into Frank Longbottom, who was knocked out and sporting a large bump on his head. Hermione looked over his body at Enola, who was now duelling Bellatrix alone, as Narcissa was throwing up nearby after taking a curse to her abdomen.

And then…

Enola was shunted by a stray Death Eater, who was being furiously pummelled by spell after spell from Luna Lovegood, who had joined the fray from who knows where. But it distracted Enola, who was hit square in the head by a curse from Bellatrix. She tumbled to the ground, losing her wand as she did so. Bella moved forward for the kill…

"You and your spawn should be happy in the next life," Bellatrix taunted. She raised her wand…

Hermione watched, frozen…she couldn't move…

She tried to scream…no sound came out…she could see Bellatrix's mouth form the word _Avada -_

And Dumbledore was aiming a spell at Hermione…though she couldn't see that…couldn't know she was seconds from death…all she could see was Enola...and her life about to be taken...

Then there were two flashes of Apparition light…a wave of ridiculously potent energy that flooded the place….Hermione felt herself cocooned in a Shield Charm of such force that Dumbledore's power spell didn't even dent it…and Neville Longbottom was suddenly standing between Bellatrix and Enola…The Sword of Gryffindor gleaming in his hand…

"Not my wife…not my child…you cunting _bitch!"_

A _scchhiinng_ cut through the air as Neville swung his blade with vicious intent…and Bellatrix Lestrange's head soared through the night sky as she was decapitated in one blow.

Hermione felt her heart swoop at the sight and she watched as Neville bent down, scooped Enola up into his arms, nodded to a point oddly _above_ Hermione, then vanished in another flash of Apparition. Hermione looked up…and lost her breath entirely.

For there was Harry, standing between her and Dumbledore, his wand in hand, thrumming with such incredible potency Hermione felt it pounding inside her body. The rage, the anger, the feral _power_ sweeping off him had made the surviving Death Eaters turn and Apparate away. They wanted no part of Harry Potter defending his wife.

Dumbledore flicked a spell, Harry deflected it easily, angrily, as though insulted.

"Come on, Tom," he roared in his fury. "You're better than that."

Dumbledore cast again, Harry deflected. His anger was immense. His imperative need to protect Hermione a thousand times moreso. It pinned Hermione to the floor, secure beneath that shimmering shield. Dumbledore began to move more quickly, and Harry darted left and right, dodging spells as they flew at him. Hermione saw Narcissa moving around, reviving the wounded, as Harry duelled with Dumbledore at a ferocious speed in the background. Luckily, they didn't seem to have any dead.

Hermione yelped just then, as Harry was hit with a spell, and it rocked him backwards. But he just laughed at it.

"That's more like it, Tom," Harry taunted. "Again."

Hermione had the oddest sense. It was as if Harry was talking to the Horcrux, not Dumbledore. It sort of made sense. Dumbledore was dead, a reanimated automaton. Tom Riddle's soul fragment was around his neck. But why was he _taunting_ it?

"Hermione, are you all right?"

Narcissa had finally reached Hermione, and was looming over her in concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Hermione. "But I need to help Harry."

She looked up as Harry hit Dumbledore with a series of spells so powerful they sent him spinning away like a top. But even in his anger, Harry was tiring faster.

"He's winning…but he can't keep this up long enough," said Hermione. "It's taking all he's got to bring Dumbledore to his level…we need to weaken him."

"There may be a way, if Harry can get close enough," said Narcissa.

"What is it? Quickly now," Hermione implored.

"Dumbledore's power is immense, he and Harry are both more powerful than Riddle, but evenly matched against each other," said Narcissa. "What you need…is a _Dumbledore's_ help."

Hermione cocked at eyebrow at Narcissa. "But they killed Aberforth, a week after the Second war ended."

"Yes, but you need to use Albus's weakness…his _own_ Achilles Heel," said Narcissa. "You need _Ariana's_ help."

"His sister?" Hermione breathed, as she watched Harry Apparate away from an Avada Kedavra behind them. "How can she help?"

"If you can get to Godric's Hollow, get to her tomb, summon her…you did it with Lily Potter," said Narcissa.

"But that was in Harry's Ritual Room. How can I -"

"You are the Head of the Order of Merlin!" Narcissa cried. "_Any_ place is a ritual space for you. All you need is your wand, your magic, and the ability to draw a circle! And you are a White Queen! If you summon a spirit at its resting place, it will answer your call."

"And what makes you think Ariana will help us?" asked Hermione.

"Tom Riddle is abusing her brother's body," said Narcissa. "To free him from that should be reason enough."

Hermione leapt up, an intent in mind. She turned to Narcissa. "Get everyone back to the palace. As Lady of the Manor, I grant you permission to take our friends across the wards."

"I'll get everyone home safe," said Narcissa. "Can I call on your elves?"

"They are at your service," said Hermione. "I have to go."

And Hermione darted off. Harry and Dumbledore were exchanging rapid fire, with neither scoring a serious advantage. Harry saw her coming, realised she needed to speak to him, and pushed a bit more power into his latest spell. It pushed Dumbledore to the ground, but the effort cost Harry his legs, too, and he fell to a knee.

"You're doing all right, hun, to be honest!" Hermione teased as she reached him.

""Thanks," Harry quirked. "Better than last time, eh?"

"Definitely, but still not enough," said Hermione.

"I'm open to suggestions," said Harry. "Watch out!"

He grabbed her and rolled away, as Dumbledore rose up and fired a jet of greyish light at them. Harry pinned Hermione down, and fired another spell at Dumbledore in return.

Hermione looked up from under Harry. "You know I find you _distractingly_ sexy, but maybe now isn't the time?"

Harry grinned at her. "You were about to give me a brilliant suggestion to turn the tide of this fight. I'm starting to tire."

"I know, but have you got a burst left in you?"

"For what?" asked Harry, rolling Hermione again as Dumbledore renewed his assault. When they stopped, _she _was on top now. She grinned down at him. Harry was liking this a bit _more_ than he should..._that_ much was _obvious_. Enola was right…he was _such_ a boy.

"We need to get Dumbledore to Godric's Hollow," said Hermione. "Can you get close and manage it?"

"Godric's Hollow?" Harry quirked. "Why?"

"I'm going to summon Ariana Dumbledore, see if she'll help us," said Hermione.

Harry looked up at her with awestruck reverence. "Now _that_ is what I call lateral thinking! I'll get Dumbledore there. Meet you in the graveyard."

And Harry jumped up, pushing Hermione clear of another jet from Dumbledore. He dived in for a quick kiss, span into Apparition, reappearing at Dumbledore's side, then grabbed him and vanished from the battlefield.

Hermione wasted no time. She turned into her own Apparition, arriving at the kissing gate to the cemetery. A second later and she was through, bolting inside and racing through the gravestones, towards the place she remembered the Dumbledore's plot to have been. When she found it, Harry was already there.

But he was alone.

"_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,_" Harry read from the headstone. "Apart from being grammatically retarded, any idea what that means? I never really thought about it."

"I suppose it comes down to how you define treasure," said Hermione, sitting down next to Harry. "You know how allegorical Dumbledore was. Treasure probably means _love_ to him. So it's probably, _'where your love is, that's where your heart is'_. To which I say - no shit, Sherlock. As we all love with our hearts."

"He could have told _me_ that," said Harry. "That might have been useful. And then just tagged on, '_oh, and Hermione means treasure in old…_I don't know_…Norse goat,'_ or something. And then maybe I'd have made the link and asked you out sooner."

"No, honey, you wouldn't have," Hermione teased. "But…where _is_ Dumbledore?"

"He gave me the slip mid-Apparition," said Harry. "Can't say I'm too upset by that. I need to recover for five minutes. Seriously, it's no wonder old Tom was frightened of Dumbledore. His magic fucking _hurts_."

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, her eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, but I'll have a few bruises in the morning, so be gentle with me," said Harry. "That was tough going."

"Well, think of it like this, hun, you were winning against Dumbledore _and_ Riddle back there," Hermione pointed out. "You were kicking ass. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, love," Harry grinned. "Do you know how to summon Ariana?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Hermione. "Narcissa said I just need to draw a circle and push my power into it."

"That's right," said Harry. "But you have to start at True North and work _anti-clockwise_. You're summoning a dead person…it has to be backwards like that."

"How do I know where True North is?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands. "I don't have a compass."

Harry stared at her incredulously. "That is a pity. It's a shame, you know, that I don't have my Time-Turner with me. You see, a few years back, some psychopath that didn't like me very much - there have been a few in my life - decided to enter me for this ludicrously perilous little competition. Maybe you read about it. But the third part of it involved me going through a maze. And, back then, this _very _clever and very _sexy_ young witch - now don't go getting jealous about this - taught me something called the Four-point spell, to give me directions. If only _she_ was here now…she'd know what to do…"

Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for Harry to finish his story. The stare she gave him would have incinerated most wizards.

"Are you finished?" she asked crossly.

"Yeah, I think I covered everything," Harry replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Couldn't have just said '_four-point spell'?_ Rather than being a fucking knob about the whole thing?"

"I like my way better," Harry grinned. "_I haven't got a compass_…honestly! Are you a witch or aren't you?"

"I'll show you how much of a witch I am, when I bubble, bubble, toil and trouble your bollocks!" Hermione spat at him.

"That was below the belt," Harry complained.

"Well, kinda had to be, bubs," said Hermione. "I know you're a _dickhead_, but I don't expect your bollocks to be up there, too. They'd hang right down in front of your eyes!"

"Eye," Harry pointed out.

"Oh…yeah," said Hermione, sheepishly. "Sorry."

"And that's a win, folks!" Harry crowed, throwing his hands up in victory. "Go Team Harry! Merlin, that was too easy!"

"Fuck you, Harry," said Hermione, fighting her own grin as she began to draw the circle.

She traced out the circumference carefully with her wand, anti-clockwise as Harry had instructed. When the two ends connected, Hermione pushed a little of her magic into it, as she'd learned to do in ritual with Harry. The circle glowed brilliant white a moment and she looked over at Harry, who inclined his head to her, a salute of a job well done

Hermione stood at the heart of her circle and called out, in a clear voice, "Ariana Dumbledore! I, Hermione Jane Potter, Head Acolyte of the Order of Merlin, summon you to my presence!"

"I am _so_ fucking hot for you right now," Harry swooned from his place watching nearby.

"Really?" Hermione grinned, failing at trying to admonish him. "In a _cemetery?_"

"Merlin, honey, if we found an open tomb nearby I'd fuck you on top of the sarcophagus while all the ghosts were watching!"

"Wow…just…yeah. Okay."

There was a stirring of energy nearby, disturbing Harry and Hermione's _moment_. A bright light burst from behind the headstone, blinding them a second, and when it dimmed a girl of around fourteen was standing before them. She had ice blonde hair and a kind expression.

"Ariana Dumbledore?" asked Hermione slowly.

"Hermione Potter," said Ariana, with a little curtsey. "What can I do for the Head of the Order of Merlin?"

"We need your help," said Hermione. "My husband is trying to defeat Tom Riddle, the worst, most Dark of all sorcerers. Riddle had reanimated your brother to fight in his service, and to protect the last piece of his split soul. But they are too equally matched, Harry and Albus. I…_we_…were hoping you might help us…to free your brother from his forced bondage...which would allow Harry to defeat him in battle."

Ariana stepped forwards. "I know of your struggle. You are both so brave. And a Red King and White Queen…I have never seen the like. How can I help?"

"Albus is being powered by external sources," said Hermione. "It's making it nearly impossible for Harry to fight him on a level playing field. And he isn't really fighting _him_…merely a perversion of him that Tom Riddle has corrupted into his service."

"Harry Potter is angry at Albus, I know this," said Ariana. "_Very_ angry."

"But he also _loves_ him…maybe against his own will, but he does," Hermione replied.

"I know this, too," said Ariana, smiling fondly.

"Can you help us?" asked Hermione. "Will you?"

"I can," said Ariana. "I can use the Dumbledore family magic to block the external influences on him, giving your husband the chance to destroy his body for good."

"But?"

"But in order to summon him here, you will need to desecrate my grave," said Ariana. "Albus will come to my aid in that circumstance."

"I will remove your effigies, and those of your mother," said Harry, entering the circle. "And rebury them at my estate. My family home lies on the magical energy well of Cymru…you will be blessed by the Spirit of the Earth, herself, to be interred there."

Ariana looked at him shrewdly. "I accept your terms. Remove our totems, and I will help you."

"Rhian!" Harry called out. His Head Elf popped to his side.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Under the ground there are two coffins," said Harry. "Please take them home and arrange for a _royal_ burial for them, with full honours."

"Yes, Master Harry," said Rhian. She closed her eyes, pulled her powerful elf magic to her task, and for five minutes the others just watched her. Then she took a deep breath. "The remains be safe at home, Master Harry."

"Thank you, Rhian," said Harry. "Please return home and arrange the burial. Take care of it personally."

Rhian nodded once, then popped away.

"Thank you, Lord Potter," said Ariana. "Now…disintegrate my headstone…and Albus will come."

"What shall I do?" asked Hermione.

Ariana looked at her curiously. "Do you trust me?"

"No," said Hermione bluntly. "But I'm open to changing that."

Ariana smiled at her. "I can see why Merlin likes you."

"What do you want from me?" asked Hermione, colouring slightly.

"This will work well as it it," said Ariana. "But, if I have access to a body and a wand, I could bring Albus to heel with relative ease."

Harry looked sternly at Hermione. "I don't like that idea."

"Ariana…how?" asked Hermione.

"Albus will not strike me, in any form," said Ariana. "He will see me and…_remember. _I can subdue him, and this evil force can be lifted from his neck."

"The Horcrux," Harry breathed to Hermione. "It's a risk…"

"Do it…use my body," said Hermione. She exchanged a look with Harry. "Just finish this, Harry."

"I will," he swore.

And Ariana stepped forward into Hermione's body, robbing her of any sense of cogency. Harry aimed his wand at the tombstone, and blew it to a hundred pieces with one spell. Then he dived behind another to wait.

He wasn't waiting long.

There was a swirl of Apparition and Dumbledore was there, his wand pounding with furious magic. It was so intense Harry felt a prickle of fear pass over his skin. Dumbledore looked around, seeking the source of this attack. Then he just stopped.

"Hello, Albus."

Hermione spoke, in Ariana's voice. It was _very_ odd for Harry to watch.

"You've been a bad brother again," said Ariana. Dumbledore just cocked his head, like a mongrel trying to understand the inflections of a stranger. "You have to _kneel_ now."

Ariana flicked a spell. It was so forceful Harry felt his hair stand on end as the shockwave passed over him. Dumbledore was on his knees, powerless against his sister's form.

"You have to do as you're told now," Ariana went on. "And give me your wand."

She flicked an _Expelliarmus_ at him and Albus was disarmed. Ariana moved to Albus and eased his head up to her.

"Harry Potter is going to destroy this body now," said Ariana gently. "And you are going to let him. And then your soul tether, trapped to this world by Tom Riddle, will be released. I will see you soon, dear brother."

Ariana-as Hermione turned her head, nodded at Harry and moved away.

And Harry struck.

He fired everything he had at Dumbledore. All his anger, his rage, all his pumping love and fierce protection of Hermione, hit Dumbledore like a thousand arrows. His body was ripped to pieces. Limbs fell, rotting skin was torn from ancient bones. And Hermione cast, too, burning to ashes each piece that Harry blasted away, until Dumbledore's entire earthly remains were ablaze.

And Harry fell at the pyre and howled loud as tears came hard, feeling like his heart was being pulled from his chest.

That face, those eyes, once so kind, yet _so_ misguided, melted before him. And he loved and hated the man he'd been in equal measure. For all the wrong he'd done, for all the stab at good. Harry knelt and wept and cursed and screamed to someone to tell him what he _should_ be feeling. And suddenly, there were arms around his shoulders. Loving arms, pulling him close. Arms of the woman who loved him more than the entire world could in conjunction. He turned into her powerful embrace…and just let her care for him.

"It's okay, it's okay," she whispered softly, her fingers threading through his sweaty hair. "It's all over…all over now."

And the fire burned, until there was nothing more than white, foliated ash. And at the heart of it…a golden medallion, the lion of Gryffindor in striking pose.

They had recovered Tom Riddle's lost Horcrux.


	19. Life and Death Choices

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. Mild sex scene at the end just for good measure!

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**Author Note**: Hey guys, this update represents the **penultimate** episode of this epic yarn. I would like to sincerely thank everyone for reading, reviewing, following, favouriting and all that great stuff. The comments and support have been incredible since the beginning and if I do bow quietly out of the fan fic writing community after this then you have all made it the Indian Summer for my little career. Thank you all so much from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoy this and the last installment when it arrives, and if I haven't mentioned you in notes, the story or in private, remember its because I'm terribly lazy at all that stuff but that I humbly appreciate all the wonderful words you've all taken the time to offer me.

Thank you. x

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The midnight moon shone down powerfully through the clear night, throwing a perfect circle of silver onto Harry's alchemy cell, through the retractable roof that was now thrown open to the elements. Hermione gasped in shock when Harry had done that, as much surprised by the hidden function of the ceiling as she was by the gorgeous night that was suddenly exposed to her. It was simply breathtaking.

This was one secret Hermione was happy that Harry had kept from her, just for this ideal, romantic moment to have him reveal it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Harry asked, grinning at her.

"It really is," said Hermione, curling her arm around his and drinking in the star-strewn sky. "We are _so_ just going to sit here sometimes, so we can marvel at it."

"I have zero problem with that," said Harry. "And it will be so much nicer if I can have _two_ eyes to enjoy it with."

Hermione pulled him close. "What have I told you about spouting all this _if_ nonsense? We are _going_ to heal you with this. Get that into your head…or you won't get _head_ for a whole week!"

Harry chortled at her. "You're a cruel Queen!"

"You know that's a wholly empty threat, right?" she purred at him. "Even cruel Queen's don't deny _themselves _their favourite toys!"

"Well, it's good to know I can exert _some_ power over you," Harry quirked. "As just lately the power balance in this marriage has tipped distinctly in one direction…and it isn't mine!"

Hermione sighed. "That's a trend that will continue, I'm afraid, so you might as well get used to it. You're mine now. I worked hard enough for you, now I have to change you to what I actually _want_ you to be!"

"Oh really?" Harry laughed. "And what, exactly, do you intend to change?"

"Not much, to be fair," Hermione grinned. "Perhaps your mouth…you give me far too much sass to be going on with!"

"Hey, just because you've managed to get everyone else licking your boots around here, don't expect me to just fall in line."

"No, maybe not," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "They can all lick my boots…and I'll just leave you to lick the rest of me instead!"

"Fuck me…that mouth of yours," Harry laughed in wonder. "I'll happily change mine, but don't ever change _yours_."

"You're such a dirty boy!" Hermione giggled, hugging in closer.

"Which is why we're going to take a bath together," said Harry.

"I did wonder why you asked me to come in here naked," Hermione replied.

"And well done on putting up _such_ opposition to the request!" Harry chortled. "You could have let me finish _saying_ 'strip down' before casting your dressing gown aside!"

"You're my King. I bow to your commands. Well…_some _of them"

"How are we ever going to make the big decisions in this marriage?" Harry quirked. "You do what I say, I do what _you_ say…we'll never agree on anything!"

"Yes, we will," said Hermione confidently. "You'll agree to do what _I _want on the big decisions and we'll live happily ever after. If you wont, I'll just lock you in a tower until you see sense!"

"We are a proper fairy tale couple, aren't we!"

"We are, _really_," said Hermione, snuggling again. "Everyone says so. But, let's get back to reality for a minute. We wont have this moon for another month if we don't do the ritual now."

"You're right," said Harry. "Let's give this a go."

"What do you need from me?"

"Just to enter the bath for now," said Harry. He offered Hermione his hand and helped her step into the warm water.

"This is just like our wedding," she swooned. "It'll be nice to have you conscious for this one!"

"You so took advantage of me there," said Harry lightly. "I would complain…but it was best day of my life, so I don't have it in me!"

Hermione grinned back, running her hand through the steamy, translucent water. "Is this solution the same?"

"Essentially," said Harry. "There are three stages to the alchemical process, called the Nigredo, the Albedo and the Rubedo. At the very start I had to take a whole bunch of personal stuff from myself - hair, blood, skin, sweat, spit, urine. Then mix them all together into what was, in all honesty, this quite disgusting dung heap. But it was my _base matter_. My life forces, as well as my cast-offs, my waste. I infused it with my magic and it formed a semi-solid mass."

"Sounds delightful," Hermione grimaced.

"It didn't fill me with optimism at first, either, I won't lie, said Harry. "But then I began the Lower Work. Treated this black mass in fire, purged it of its imperfections. Then I multiplied it, used it to turn lead - the basest metal - into four purer forms: Tin, Iron, Quicksilver and Copper. All the copper, and some of the bronze and brass furniture in here, I made from that source. That bath you're in, for example."

"You _made_ this yourself?" Hermione asked, impressed. "Wow."

"Physical alchemists are, above all, Masters of Fire and Master Metallurgists as a result of striving to produce gold," said Harry. "It's a _baser_ pursuit, if you like."

"But you've also made _silver_," said Hermione, flashing her wedding ring as proof.

"Yeah, I have," said Harry. "I reached the Albedo stage. As well as turning lead as far as silver in an alchemical bath, the solution I used is what's known as the White Elixir. It's produced as the result of the process…but also _causes it._"

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't make a bit of sense!"

"Welcome to alchemy!" Harry laughed. "It's all a bit like that. The Stone is a stone…but _not_ a stone. It makes sense when you get used to it, but, for now, all you need to know is that you are in a bath of a White Elixir solution, and, as you soak in it, it draws your _own_ essence into it to add to my own."

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "So, what you're trying to say is…I'm in a bath…with water made from your piss, spit and faeces?"

"But it doesn't sound so _romantic_ if you say it like that!" Harry teased. "You're in a bath of my essence. Think of it like that."

"That _sounds_ nicer," said Hermione, still frowning slightly. "But it's still a bubble bath made from your bodily fluids I'm swimming in!"

Harry cocked a filthy eyebrow at her. "You haven't complained much about my _bodily_ _fluids_ before. And you have been fairly intimate with them lately!"

Hermione huffed. "I suppose I asked for that one, didn't I?"

"You keep setting them up, honey, and I'll keep knocking them from the park!"

"Just get on with this," Hermione frowned.

Harry sighed. "Would you like to see what my purified, Albedo-level essence looks like today?"

"I'll probably regret this, but okay."

Harry grinned and moved to his ornate cabinet. He unlocked the bottom draw with a silent spell and reached inside.

What he drew out made Hermione gasp in breathtaking surprise.

It was, essentially, a mass of crystal. It was hard to tell if it was silver or the purest shade of white. Either way, it was _dazzling_ to the eye. It gave off its own subdued light, and looked to be shifting beneath the surface like liquid, but viscous like mercury. Hermione took it with baited breath as Harry handed it to her. She held it with trembling fingers, as though holding a precious, priceless treasure.

"My goodness, Harry…this is _beautiful_!" Hermione breathed.

"Isn't it?" Harry replied, grinning fondly. "It's amazing how pure something can get with the right treatment, when it's purged of its imperfections, don't you agree? And, you see how beautiful that thing is you're holding?"

Hermione nodded.

"And you remember your revulsion at my _bodily fluid_ mixture?" Hermione gave a sheepish little nod again. "Well, if you imagine…that was _me_ at the start of my Opus; base, ugly, corrupt and imperfect. And now I'm at the Albedo stage in my life…and my transmuting force…is _you."_

Hermione gasped again, looking at Harry with disbelieving eyes.

"I was the Black Matter before we met," said Harry. "And, through knowing you, and all the infinite myriad of good you've done to, and for, me, I've become pure white-silver, like that object in your hands. I am, _literally,_ in your hands. I've become a _better man_…in _your_ hands, under your care. The only thing left to do…is for _us_ to become _gold_. Together."

"Then get in here with me," Hermione breathed. Harry obeyed his Queen. "Just tell me what to do. I am in _your_ hands, too."

Harry grinned. "If this is, indeed, the right time for this…when all is aligned for it to work…this should be a simple thing."

"It is…I _know _it."

"And I…_feel_ it," said Harry. "So, we have to call on the Parents of Alchemy to bless us, like in our wedding. With both our hands on the White Stone, we'll push it into the water. Let everything you have out…all your magic, all your love, all your pee if you want to. It should infuse the Stone. I'll guide our special bond essence to it, drive it into the heart of the Stone. And that should be it."

"How will we know if it's worked?"

"The bath water will turn gold, and the Stone will turn from silver to red-purple. The colour of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Let's do it, Harry," Hermione smiled at him. "Let's complete _Our Work."_

Harry nodded and slid into the bath opposite Hermione. He placed both hands on the White Stone and eased it into the water, never once taking his eye from his wife's face. She looked so dazzling in this environment, Harry was finding it hard to look directly at her. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

"I call on King Sol, Father of Alchemy, to Bless and Infuse us. I call on him as a Red King - Master of Fire and Air."

Harry nodded at Hermione, who tried to recall the details of the wedding ritual. It wasn't hard, it was the best day of her life - she could have transcribed it word for word.

"I call on Queen Luna, Mother of Alchemy, to Bless and Infuse us. I call on her as a White Queen - Mistress of Earth and Water."

Harry inclined his head and smiled at her, as thumping magic hit the room, causing their bath water to swell and splash.

"Open up your essence, honey, let it all out."

So she did, as Harry did the same. The result was Hermione's first orgasm in a bath since she was a teenager and she had learned it was possible. Harry hadn't meant to cause it, but he was releasing everything, he didn't think to hold back. And it wasn't _his_ fault his magic was so naturally charged with sex.

Hermione blinked open her eyes, her chest heaving with her rampant breaths. She looked over at Harry, bright-eyed and flushed.

"Sorry, " he offered.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times," said Hermione breathlessly. "You _never _have to apologise for being able to bring me to shuddering orgasm without even laying a finger on me!"

Harry grinned guiltily. "Just keep your hands on the Stone. I'm going to push our magic into it now. I'll…er…try not to be so _intimate._"

"Don't hold back on my account," Hermione grinned. "I'll just lie back and think of England!"

"Or Wales, just to be faithful to our adopted country!" said Harry.

"That works, too."

Harry proceeded, dipping into Hermione's well of energy and drawing it into that ephemeral connection he was always lightly aware of between them these days. It swelling and surged with the sudden increase of power and Harry eased it gently down, trying to ignore Hermione's shuddering feet touching his thigh. When it crossed into the White Stone, even _she_ felt it.

"Wow, Harry," she breathed. "What is that? I can feel it _changing_…does that mean it's working?"

"I think it must be," he whispered in awed shock. "Look!

He nodded at the milky water, which was thickening, swilling hard around them, and changing to brilliant gold.

"Keep going, Harry!" Hermione urged. "It's happening!"

Harry knew it just as certainly. The texture of the Stone was smoothing, refining, becoming richer to the touch. Harry pushed with all his intent…until he felt a light _snap_, as though he'd crossed a threshold.

He didn't need to look down. He could _feel_ that it had worked. But he had to see it for himself. So he flicked his eye down, to that space between his legs and Hermione's, which were now crossed over each other, and there, shining brightly under the water, was the purest red stone he'd ever seen.

Well, since he was eleven-years-old and he drew one from the Mirror of Erised, obviously.

"Harry…" Hermione breathed. "Look at _it_! It's the prettiest, most beautiful…"

But she couldn't say any more, as Harry had closed his lips around hers, drawing her head to him with both hands, as Hermione lifted the Philosopher's Stone from their alchemical bath. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him bodily closer until she was practically sat in his lap, deepening their kiss, thrilling as she felt him grow against her inner thigh.

They broke apart after several breathless minutes, and just pressed their foreheads together as they cuddled.

"This…this means," Hermione whispered. "This means we can _really_ heal you!"

She spoke the words in wonder, believing them unilaterally for the first time.

Harry smiled back at her. "Yes…yes, we can. But, we do it tomorrow. I'll let you look after me then…but, tonight, your care is all in _my_ hands."

Hermione giggled, sliding her arms around Harry's neck as he lifted her powerfully from the bath, deposited the Philosopher's Stone on his alchemy cabinet, and took his White Queen to bed.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Neville looked over at Harry, who had asked the question. He'd poised it to Enola, who was sitting up in bed and looking pouty.

"She can't hear you, Harry," said Neville, sadly. "We're pretty sure her hearing will return soon….her _sight_ did after a couple of days, after all."

"It really was a senseless curse," Harry frowned. Enola suddenly realised he was there, and turned to him with an encouraging smile. Neville was looking less than pleased with Harry's slip. "Oh…sorry, mate."

But the curse really had been _senseless_, robbing Enola of all five of hers in one go. Her sight, touch and smell had already returned, but they were just playing a waiting game on the other two.

"What is it you want, Harry?" asked Neville.

"I wanted to see how Enola was doing," said Harry. "To see if she was up for a bit of magic."

Neville frowned. "No, Harry. I don't want to push her. We don't know how it will affect her recovery."

Enola scowled from her place on the bed. She was frustrated at being left out of the conversation, and had no idea why her husband was shaking his head so vigorously at whatever it was that Harry was saying.

"What are you two arguing about?" she asked.

Harry turned in dumb surprise. For some reason he had made the assumption that Enola had lost the power of speech with her robbed senses.

"How are you?" Harry mouthed, slow and loud.

"I'm fine," Enola returned crossly, in the same exaggerated manner. "I am temporarily impaired, Harry, not stupid. Why are you two rowing?"

Harry looked to Neville. "Go on. She's just as gobby as normal, so she's generally fine. What do you want from her anyway?"

"I need her help," said Harry, grinning. "For…_this_."

He reached into his pocket and drew out the Philosopher's Stone, which he had shrunk. He resized it…and Enola's eyes doubled in size, too, as they fell on it.

"You _did_ it!" she breathed excitedly, holding out her hands. "Give me! Give me!"

She was gesturing impatiently, like a child receiving her biggest Christmas gift. Harry handed it over with a grin.

"You really did it, Harry?" asked Neville, his voice quiet and awestruck. "Does that mean you can be healed now?"

"That's what I'm here to find out," said Harry. "I've got Cassie brewing up the potion we used on Sally. She's adding Riddle's blood to it, I'm going to draw the seed of the Elixir of Life from inside The Stone, add that, too. I've got Hermione casting some healing spells onto a bain-marie that we are going to put the solution into. Then I'm going to soak my face in it and hope for the best.

"But your darling wife is the only one I trust to clean my scar by magic. She hasn't gotten around to teaching Hermione how yet. I was hoping she'd clean me…one last time if it all works. Then see if she can seal this little gash I've been carrying around for five years."

Enola, who had heard none of that, turned the Stone in her hand carefully. She looked up at Harry.

"We can heal you now?" she asked. Harry nodded. "And you want me to help? And Nev thinks I'm fragile and wont let you ask me?"

Harry grinned widely and nodded again, and Enola threw a dangerous look at Neville.

"Right." said Enola, pulling herself out of bed with a little huff. She prodded Neville in the chest. "You are sweet, but you're not the boss of me. I'm fine. Just a little diminished right now. Come on, Harry. Take me where you need me."

Harry stretched his hand for Enola to take and led her through the house to the Recuperation Room. Cassie and Hermione were already there, eyeing the potion sloshing away inside the large cauldron Cassie had brought with her. Hermione hurried to Enola as she entered, drawing her into a deep hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she breathed. "When I saw that curse hit you…"

Enola cut her off and pointed to her ears. "I can't hear you, Min. My ears have stopped working."

Hermione gasped and threw a horrified look at Neville, who was pulling up the rear. "Deaf?"

"Only temporary, we hope," Neville confirmed. "Bellatrix hit her with a curse that took _all_ her senses. But they're coming back slowly."

"That evil _cunt_," Hermione hissed. "Can we bring her back to life? I'd like to kill her myself!"

Neville snorted. "Nah, that one was mine. And a thing of beauty it was, too."

"It so was," Harry agreed.

"Are you talking about me?" Enola huffed. "It better be good if you are."

Hermione gave her a thumbs up and led her to the bain-marie, where she tried to demonstrate in crude sign language what she was doing. Enola soon cottoned on and began joining her in spell casting. Harry made his way to Cassie.

"Is it ready?" he asked, looking dubiously into the cauldron. The mixture there was globular, like day-old cold porridge. "It looks…er…delightful."

"I could add a flavouring agent," said Cassie, hopelessly. "But we don't know how that might effect it's potency."

"No, I'm sure I can take it," said Harry. "Just need to add the last bit, I suppose."

He took the red-purple stone in his left hand and placed the tip of his wand to it. He closed his eyes, pushed his magical intent deep into the Stone, and withdrew it slowly, pulling a deep red bubble away with his wand. He stared at it a moment, took a hopeful breath, and eased it into the cauldron and watched Cassie stir it into the solution.

It transformed immediately to a smoother liquid. It became the blush colour of a rose wine. Harry hoped it would taste that nice. Cassie stirred it for a few minutes more and then scooped a beaker-full out and handed it to Harry. Hermione left Enola and came to his side.

"Now or never," said Harry, bracingly. "Bottoms up."

"No, wait!" said Hermione, quickly, halting the beaker as Harry pressed it to his lips. "It needs _this_."

She pressed her wand to her chest and drew a small portion of her magic. It came like a sliver of memory, dangling from her wand like a golden, glowing worm. She dropped it into Harry's beaker and stirred it with her wand.

"Me versus Riddle…with your life as the prize," Hermione whispered, as she placed a tender kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. "My money's on _me_."

Harry smiled at her, closed his eyes, and downed the potion in one.

He shuddered as it passed through him. It had been brewed warm, but it was chilly as it raced through his system. He sat down on the bed, as he was shivering too much to remain standing.

"Taste nice?" Hermione asked.

"A bit like tizer," said Harry, licking the residue from his lips.

"How does it feel?" Hermione asked gently, smoothing little circles on Harry's forearm with her fingers, as she sat down next to him.

"Like a million little pinpricks in my very cells," said Harry, trying in vain to describe it.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, more like a tickling irritant," said Harry. "Like having a stray hair in your mouth that you just can't find to pull out."

"Do you think it's working?"

"I think it must be," said Harry, cautiously. "It's never felt like this before."

"Then lets finish the job," said Hermione, firmly. She stood and eased Harry back onto the bed. She drew Enola's attention, and motioned to Harry's face.

Enola nodded. "You can't help with this, Min. Just don't curse me when Harry starts flailing around. I always try to be delicate, but the sensitivity…"

Harry reached over, squeezed Enola's hand in a gestured of thanks, then closed his eye to wait. Hermione took his other hand in both her own, gripping tight as Harry pinched hard when Enola started her casting. He hissed and tensed and thrashed about as Enola incanted silently, grinding his teeth and moaning lowly from his throat.

"You're _hurting_ him," Hermione breathed angrily.

Enola didn't hear, but Hermione's dagger-laden look was clear enough. "I know…I know…but this is the only way."

The whole process took ten minutes. Hermione was sure Harry was going to crush her fingers with his death grip, but she was determined to stand firm with him. When Enola stopped, the scar did _look_ cleaner…and that foul stench was gone from it, at least. Harry squeezed Enola's hand again and mouthed a pained _'thank you'. _His hair was soaked in sweat as Hermione ran her fingers through it.

"Right." said Harry. He sat up. "Honey…the bain-marie."

Hermione pulled the deep copper basin to Harry's side and Cassie poured the mixture from her cauldron into it. Hermione repeated her trick from the potion Harry had drunk, as that seemed to have worked before, and handed Harry a snorkle.

Harry cocked her a confused grin as he took it from her. "What's this for?"

"You have to keep your head in the solution for three whole minutes," said Hermione. "I thought breathing would be a fun thing to do whilst you're waiting!"

"You think of everything, don't you?" Harry quirked. "What would I do without you?"

Hermione smiled. "That's not something you'll ever have to find out. Are you ready?"

"Three minutes." said Harry. "Like a soft boiled egg. Here goes."

Harry placed the snorkle into his mouth and lowered his face into the bain-marie. He felt the effects instantly. The potion flew to his scar like a magnet, sloshing through the groove like Luke Skywalker attacking the Death Star. Harry just closed his eye and waited. He had forgotten to start counting when his face entered the liquid, but he trusted Hermione to be keeping the time.

Three minutes seemed to take months to pass. But, eventually, Hermione tugged gently on the back of Harry's neck and eased his head up. He heard her gasp as his face broke the surface of the potion. He turned to her, shocked at her startled expression. Hermione was beaming at him…but it was Enola who spoke.

"Sweet, Merlin, Harry!" she cried. "Your scar looks _clean_. Lie down! Quickly now."

Harry did as he was told and Enola took her wand to him. He felt the ridges of his scarred skin being eased together, and a little tear escaped him as he felt Enola's healing magic knit them back together. Hermione was crying too, joyous tears, as she knelt at his bedside and buried her head into the crook of his shoulder. Harry brought an arm up around her and massaged her scalp, scarcely daring to believe this was _actually _working.

"Min…" said Enola softly. "Look…"

Hermione raised her head, cast her eyes over Harry's perfectly healed face, and sobbed uncontrollably at the sight.

"His eye, Min," said Enola, gently. "I think _you_ should do it."

Hermione's tears ceased at once. She swallowed hard, hiccuping breaths. Harry just smiled at her…his full face completely robbing her of cogent thought a moment.

"How do I?" Hermione asked.

"Just _think_ it," said Enola. "Your magic will do the rest. You are super-powerful…and this is _Harry_…_you_ don't need training to heal _him_."

Hermione drew her wand, struggling to hold it steady in trembling fingers. She held it over Harry's empty eye socket, closed her own eyes and pulled a memory…the first time she'd ever seen him…surrounded by Chocolate Frogs and liquorice wands…those _eyes, so _startling to behold as they locked on her own, stealing her breath…emerald green…full of hope and emotion…

And Hermione opened her own, and looked down into Harry's again. Looked into _both_ of them again.

"Hey, you," Harry whispered softly, reaching up to smooth fresh, happy tears from Hermione's face. Vision flooded his brain and he drank in the image of his wife for the first time with _two _eyes…as though it was the first time he'd ever seen her. And she seemed, somehow, even more beautiful.

"Harry…" Enola breathed quietly. "You…you…_you're gorgeous!"_

"You really are, Harry!" Cassie agreed with a deep swoon.

They both looked jealously at Hermione, and chorused, "_Luckiest_ fucking witch in the world!"

"One husband…standing right here!" Neville moaned, bitterly.

But Enola didn't hear a word of his complaint.

* * *

"Master Harry! Your face is all better! And you're so pretty now. _See_, Lady Hermione…I _told _you he was pretty without his scar!"

Hermione laughed and clung onto Harry's arm. She hadn't been out of physical contact with him for _hours_ now. And she just couldn't stop _looking_ at him. She wasn't vacuous, and his scar hadn't made a blind bit of difference to her when he had it. But now that he _didn't_…he took her breath away even more.

For Hermione had always been physically attracted to Harry. Ever since she'd developed that sort of sentiment towards boys, Harry had just always made her a little weak-kneed. And it was his eyes that did it for her. An innocuous glance at her, when he thought she wasn't looking, whatever the intent might have been behind it, was enough to send her a little dopey. It might have been something inane - checking how tired she was as she ploughed through an essay, or making sure she wasn't ignored when the House discussed a Quidditch victory…just to see that care or concern for her in those emerald green pools…it was enough to leave her melted and a bit silly.

But to see Harry's passionate _love_ for her, burning so fiercely in his gaze now…it was sending Hermione's brain into an uncontrolled tailspin.

So, she didn't have any interest in being anywhere other than curled tight into his side. And Harry was equally as content to have her right there, too, so that his new eye could catch up to the other, in terms of time spent just looking at her. That was all kinds of difficult to process for Hermione, and she blushed under the intensity of his stare. He looked like he felt so _lucky_ to have her…and Hermione couldn't quite wrap her head around that notion.

And Celesca was very right…he was _so_ pretty without his scar.

"Yes he is, sweetheart," Hermione grinned back at the girl. "He's very pretty."

"I prefer _handsome_," Harry frowned. "Pretty…pfft."

"Does it not hurt now?" asked Celesca. She couldn't help but reach over and pull on Harry's newly repaired skin.

"Well, _that_ hurts a bit!" Harry laughed. Celesca pulled her hand back quickly, offering a cute little grin of guilt as she did.

"Sorry."

"It's fine, I'm tough, I can take it," Harry smirked.

"Mummy said you wanted to see me?" said Celesca.

"Yes, we did," said Harry. "I'm just testing out my new eye. It wants to _see_ everything!"

Celesca giggled. "Does it all work properly, then?"

"Yes, I can see you perfectly well," said Harry. "Which is a new thing for me, because I used to wear glasses before. Did you do that on purpose, Min?"

"No, but I suppose the Elixir of Life just cured _everything_," Hermione replied, thoughtfully.

"Honey…we need to make a bit of a decision on _that_," said Harry.

"On what?"

"The Elixir," said Harry. "You realise we can live forever now, don't you? I think we should pick a number."

"Harry, you don't just decide something like that on the spot!" Hermione cried, shaking her head in wonder. "But, I tell you what. We'll make enough Elixir to wait until shell suits come back into fashion. Then we'll know society is on the verge of collapse and we'll die before it happens!"

Harry chortled. "Deal."

Hermione turned to Celesca. "But no, Cesc, we didn't ask for you so that we could make bad jokes. We need your help."

"Ooh, I like helping," said Celesca cheerily. "What do you need me to do?"

"We have this item here," said Harry, tapping the Seal of Gryffindor as he placed it on the coffee table between them. "It has a life signal going to it. We were wondering if you could tell us who it is…and, more importantly, where it _goes_."

"Let me see," said Celesca, sitting on her knees and scooting over to it. Then her expression fell. "Master Harry! Snake-man is _in_ there!"

"I know, honey," said Harry. "Don't worry, he cant hurt you. Don't look at that. Just tell me if there are any energy lines going to it."

Celesca closed her eyes and breathed deeply, reaching into her Seer magic. She nodded.

"There _is_ a line…just one," she breathed. "It's from a child…a little boy…"

Hermione looked sorrowfully at Harry. "It _is_ Teddy, then."

Harry ground his jaw angrily, and took a breath to steady himself. "Can you find where it goes, Cesc?"

"Yes…yes I should be able to," said Celesca. She breathed hard again, as if going into trance. "It's in a village for magical people…lots of shops…a tea shop…two places where wizards go and drink lots of beer and mead…"

"Hogsmeade?" Hermione whispered in shock.

"Yes! That's what it's called, Lady Hermione," said Celesca. "I can see the sign now. There's a school there."

"Hogwarts? Why would Teddy be _there?_"

"No, it isn't the castle for young witches and wizards," said Celesca. "It's for even younger ones than them."

"Harry!" said Hermione, suddenly. "It must be one of the Academies!"

"The _what?_"

"Voldemort set up satellite institutions for young kids," Hermione explained quickly. "They were called things like _The Young Wizards Brigade_ and the _LV Youth_. They were centres where children would be _educated_ in a curriculum Riddle designed."

"Brainwashed, you mean," Harry replied angrily.

"Pretty much," Hermione confirmed. "But they were always secret places. Parents had no idea where their kids had gone until they came of age to attend Hogwarts. Two of Ron's proposed _wives_ had come though that system. That's the only reason I know about it."

"Then it looks like we're going back to school," said Harry, standing. "Thanks, Celesca, you can come back now."

"Wait! Master Harry!" Celesca breathed in horror. "You mustn't go there!"

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"Because…because…_Snake-man is there_! Right now!" she breathed in a petrified little voice.

"Riddle! He's _with_ Teddy!" Harry breathed.

Celesca nodded. "They are talking…he's saying he's going to give the little boy a tour…a tour of the castle. He says he can pick any room he wants for his own. Master Harry - I think that's where he _lives,_ you know…"

"Riddle…_lives_ at Hogwarts?" Hermione thought aloud.

"It makes sense, actually," said Harry. "It was the only place he ever considered to be his home. It follows that he would make his base there."

"But think of all those kids…a thousand or more of them…all being brainwashed by him on a daily basis," Hermione hissed in disbelief. "Good Merlin, Harry!"

"I know, I know," he snarled back.

Then Celesca jumped up. "Master Harry! He _knows_…he knows I'm here…he can _see_ me!"

"Come away from there! Right now!" Hermione ordered as Harry snatched up the Horcrux. Celesca opened her frightened eyes.

"It's okay, I got away," she said, panting heavily. "I'm sorry. I should have hidden. People don't normally see me when I'm like that."

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione in desperate concern. Celesca nodded and Hermione drew her into a hug. "I'm sorry, honey, we shouldn't have asked you to do that."

"But you know where the little boy is now," said Celesca brightly. "But I wouldn't go for him just yet, if I were you."

"No, we can't, Harry," Hermione agreed. "We can't face Riddle. Not yet."

"I know," said Harry, ruefully. "We have to destroy his Horcrux first. Thanks, Cesc. I'll have Rhian make you that chocolate cake you like so much."

"Ooh, thank you," Celesca beamed. "I'll go and tell Mummy. I'm sure she'll be very cross with me if I don't share. She likes cake, too, you see."

* * *

Hermione huffed as Harry closed the door to the Ritual Room. He looked at her in an apologetic sort of way. But she was _very_ cross with him.

"What do you mean you _tortured_ Ron without me?" she chuffed. "That was supposed to be a _family_ activity!"

"Sorry, I just wanted a go at him myself first," said Harry. "Look, you took the _actual_ kill off me. I have to be allowed _something_."

"Okay, I suppose you have a point," Hermione replied, with a little frown.

"Besides," said Harry. "This is a gift that will keep on giving."

Hermione thought about that a moment. "You mean we can do it _again_!"

"And again and again, if you like," Harry grinning.

"I _do_ like_," _said Hermione. "But I still get to do the final kill."

"Of course," said Harry. "Have you decided on a method yet?"

"Yes…yes, I think so," said Hermione. "Wanna hear it?"

"I am _all_ ears for this," said Harry, his eyes flashing. "Hit me with it."

"Okay. But don't go all mental at my reasons."

"All right," said Harry, cautiously.

"Well, the worst part, of all the tortures he put me through, was the regular raping," said Hermione, taking Harry's hands soothingly as he winced at her words. "They were worse than the beatings, even with his tiny cock. It was worse than his punches, his slaps, the clumps of my hair he ripped out. Bruises fade, bones heal, my hair grew back.

"But the rape was more intimate. He was _inside_ me, see. Physically _in_ my body. I can never wash enough to get rid of that. He soiled me."

"So…what's your vengeance?" Harry ground out, angrily.

"Well, I found this book on mediaeval torture in the library," Hermione went on. "And there was this one method that was…_inspiring._ So, I'm going to adapt it for my purposes."

"What are you going to do?"

"First, I'm going to castrate him," said Hermione. "Then transfigure his cock until it's about nine-feet tall. Then I'm going to put a sharp tip on the end. Then, I'll strip him naked, put his arsehole onto the cock-spike, and let gravity slowly drive it through his body, until his own bell-end comes out of his mouth and his ginger pubes - which I'll transfigure to razor-wire - scratch his throat to pieces. It will take a few hours and I'm thinking of getting a bottle of wine, and some cheese and biscuits, and settling in to watch every _second_ of it."

Harry blinked at her in stunned silence. "Wow…just…okay. Just one question, I suppose."

"Which is?"

"Red, white or rose…for the wine, I mean?" Harry grinned.

Hermione laughed. "Come on, show me what you've done to him so far."

Harry repeated his process from before, drew all the magic of the Ritual Room to him, then pulled Ron's spirit back to the place.

And even _he_ was surprised by what he saw.

For Ron was sat with his knees hugged into his chest, rocking side to side and muttering to himself. His head was wobbling with little shakes as his lips flapped open at a rapid pace.

"What _did_ you do to him?" Hermione quirked, as she watched Ron's insanity course through him.

"I pushed his head through into the next world," Harry explained. "He was like this when he came back. Wouldn't surprise me if half his mind is still _in there_."

He nodded at the Veil, flapping away in front of him.

Hermione huffed. "And _you_ were shocked at my kill idea? There's _artistry_ in what you've done, honey."

"Glad you approve," said Harry. "What's he saying? I can't make it out."

"Something about his mother," said Hermione, kneeling next to him. "Like she's telling him off and he's making excuses. Oh…now _that's_ an idea!"

"What?"

"Watch this," Hermione grinned. She drew her wand and pulled some of the swirling magical mist to her, forming it into a large, rotund shape. Then she cast a mimicking charm on her voice.

"Ronald! You naughty little boy! Get up off that floor this instant!"

Harry burst out laughing. Hermione had made herself sound like _Molly_, and thrown her voice to come from the vague shape standing over Ron. He obeyed the order and got up.

"Now, for being such a disappointing son, I want you to punch yourself in the bollocks three times," said Hermione, sternly.

And Ron did as he was told, doubling up in agony as the third blow connected. Harry just hooted with laughter.

"And now," Hermione went on. "Let's see if we can get your brain to work. Go to the wall and head-butt it for a full minute."

Ron, again, did as he was told, but knocked himself cold after forty-five seconds. His spirit form vanished as he hit the floor.

"Oh, crap! Did I kill him?" Hermione complained. "I hope not. That's not how I want it."

"No, I just think his being unconscious means there isn't enough energy to make a stable connection," said Harry. "Interesting. Wow. I really fucked his mind up. Maybe we should leave him like that, keep feeding him the Elixir for eternity so he suffers until the end of time."

"There's merit in that," Hermione pondered. "But, no. I want to kill him. I'm really looking forward to it. I might leave it till Christmas Day, give it to myself as a present."

Harry laughed. "That's a grand idea. We could put a bow on him and everything."

"No," Hermione said decisively. "That's three months away. I'm not waiting that long."

"Okay. So I have another question," said Harry. "Who goes first? Riddle or Ron?"

"Good question," Hermione replied, thinking shrewdly a moment. "Only one, sensible, adult way to decide such a thing, really."

"Which is?"

"Hold up your fists for me. There, good." said Hermione, easing Harry's arms apart until they were evenly spaced. "Okay, right is Riddle, left is Ron. Eeenie, meenie, miney, mo…catch a Death Eater, by his toe…if he squeals, let him go…and hit him with a reductor curse or something…eeenie, meenie, miney, mo."

Harry laughed. "Riddle it is then."

"I think I prefer it that way around," said Hermione, nodding. "So, when do we go for Teddy?"

"I've sent Didi and his ZGD team to get him," said Harry. "Person extraction is a speciality of theirs."

"Harry…you know he wont want to come," said Hermione. "And do you have any clue how we're going to break the link to the Horcrux?"

"I genuinely don't know," said Harry. "I'm going to bring him right in here, just in case Riddle has rigged him with something."

"Harry, what if the only way to break the link…is to kill him?"

"Hermione…"

"What? I have to say it," she replied, firmly. "We killed the Dursleys, Dumbledore…my marriage to Ron had to _die,_ too. It's a common theme."

"I'm not killing my godson," said Harry sternly. "We will have to find another way. I'm wondering if Celesca can somehow block the signal to the Horcrux, just long enough to destroy it. Then we can work on cleansing Teddy's mind."

"I'll give you every chance to do things your way, honey," said Hermione. Then she stepped forwards and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, before locking her eyes on both of his with unshakable seriousness. "But…if you cant…I _will_ do what needs to be done…in _my_ way. And you'll just have to create enough Elixir to live long enough to forgive me for it. Just know that."

Then she left Harry quite alone with his difficult thoughts.

* * *

It took three days.

When Harry felt the shimmer on the air, that indicated the wards being opened, on a balmy Wednesday at the start of October, he was sat in his secret copse, enjoying the afternoon sun with a pint of ice-cold cider, freshly kegged from his on-site brewery. It was just the most refreshing way to cut through the dry heat of the day. Harry enjoyed brewing, but he enjoyed sampling the fruits of his labour just as much.

And cider was simply the _only_ way to use an orchard full of apples in Harry's opinion.

It had been a nice day up to that point. Hermione's was sat nearby, perched in a sort of lotus position. She was meditating on her Animagus form underneath the little Hippogriff fountain. Harry was thrilled to bits that she'd decided to pursue the Animagus transformation, and astounded that she'd decided to try and become a _lioness_, just to match him as his animal mate.

That was all kinds of awesome in his mind.

When he transformed for her, to allow her to take a cutting of his mane, it was such an intimate moment for them. He'd never transformed for anyone in a private way like that before, and certainly never allowed anyone to _pet_ him. But when Hermione ran her fingers in absolute wonder through his fur…it was just one of the most sensual moments of his life.

Harry was always _differently_ sensitive when he was the lion…and Hermione's touch was just delicious. He knew instantly why cats purred and rubbed themselves against people after that. _He_ did, butting his head gently against Hermione's fingers, her thighs, any part he could, leaving his scent all over her. It was addictive.

Now he just couldn't wait to do it to her…as a human and as a cat. It was a thrilling prospect.

But all that would have to wait. Hermione opened her eyes gently as she felt the air shift, too, and Harry stood, drained the remnants of his glass and made his way quickly towards the house. Hermione was on his heels in seconds.

"Is it Dietmar?" she asked.

"Must be," said Harry. "There's no one else outside of the boundary. And Neville has been monitoring our communication links with Didi's team. That's Neville's signature on the air. He opened the wards."

"How do you want to play this?"

"I'll go to the Ritual Room," said Harry. "I've told Nev that's where Teddy is to be brought. You go and fetch Celesca. I know…I _know_ what you said…but I have to try this first."

"I know you do," said Hermione, gently. "I'll get Cesc."

"Thank you."

They parted with a kiss and Harry hurried down the staircase and into the Ritual Room. It seemed colder than normal, perhaps due to Harry's hot, sun-kissed skin and he shivered against it. He was filled with a bizarre sense of foreboding. He couldn't shake it, and simply paced with his unease until Neville entered the room.

Harry _heard_ them before they entered. A young voice, cursing and shouting, and Neville trying to pacify him. Then they were in the room…and Harry got his first look at his godson.

He was ugly. There was no other way to describe him. Deep-sunk, dark eyes, with a distinctly cruel look, and a sneer for an expression. His hair was shifting in colour and styles, reflecting his angry, frustrated state. He was raging against Neville, who eventually let him go and stood guard at the door. Harry had to flick his wand at the runes, which sent out a wave to magic to hold Teddy Lupin in place.

"Hello, Teddy," said Harry. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, but you don't know _me!" _Teddy snapped. "My name isn't _Teddy_…it's _Theo…_or Theodore, to you. Take me back to my father. Now!"

"Your father?" Harry asked.

"Lord Voldemort!" Theo yelled, almost in reverent salute. "And he will _kill_ you, Harry Potter, when he finds out what you've done!"

"Teddy…_Theo,"_ said Harry gently. "That…that _man_…is _not_ your father. Your father was called Remus Lupin. He was a good friend of mine. He made me your godfather and tasked me with your protection. That's why I've rescued you."

"I don't need to be _rescued_," he spat angrily. "And I don't _want_ to be. Take me home!"

"You…want to go back? To Tom Riddle?"

"I don't know any _Tom Riddle_," Theo spewed. His voice was hate-filled, laced with acid. It felt corrosive to Harry's ears. "Just take me back to my father…so I can watch him _kill _you!"

Harry felt a piece of his heart break. He closed his eyes.

"Voldemort killed your real parents," said Harry. "Don't you want to know who they were?"

"_He_ is my Lord and my father! I need no other! If you don't let me go, I will cut out your heart when you sleep! And my father will reward me greatly!"

_'You're already doing it while I'm awake!'_ Harry thought sorrowfully, his heart sinking under the weight of his hurt.

Just then Hermione entered with Celesca in tow. She crossed to Harry and stood at his side, Celesca drawn close under her right arm. Harry looked at Hermione and gave a delicate shake of his head. She closed her eyes and took a heavy breath. Harry swallowed hard, noticing that Hermione had entered with her wand already drawn. It throbbed with her magic now, steeled for the nightmare task facing them.

Behind Hermione's wand, the Veil flapped gently in its arch.

"You!" Theo hissed acidly. "You're the mind witch! My father said you are evil and dangerous. Get away from me, _you_!"

He was directing his vitriol at Celesca as she stepped away from Hermione.

"I was only trying to find you," said Celesca. "To help you. The snake-man is very bad. You should stay with us. Let us help you."

"I don't _need_ help…you all do," Theo spat angrily.

"Come on, don't be cross," Celesca implored, smiling sweetly. "We can fix you. Maybe we can be friends."

And she held out her hand in a gesture of good will.

Then, three things happened in quick succession.

First, Theo looked at Celesca's outstretched hand…then his face darkened with evil intent. He dived forwards aggressively, throwing his hands out as if to _push_ Celesca…

And she had somehow managed to step back onto the Veil Archway platform…

Time seemed to stand still as Theo rushed forward.

Then Harry and Hermione roared and screamed in unison. And their _voices,_ bound with their magic and the power of the room, took on physical form. It was unclear who did what, but the net result was that Celesca was pushed clear to safety…and Theo was left clutching at air, as he lunged into the gap Celesca had vacated, and the other physical shout hit him from behind.

He tripped, stumbled forwards…and toppled through the Veil before anyone could do anything about it.

Harry fell to his knees with a throaty groan, staring at the point where his godson had vanished. Hermione darted to Celesca, who apart from being a bit shaken, was otherwise fine. Then she hurried to Harry, enveloping him in a fierce, consoling embrace.

"Oh…_Harry_…I'm sorry…so, so sorry," she whispered gently.

Harry folded into her embrace as Celesca came over, and patted his head awkwardly. Harry snatched his arm around her, drawing her tightly into his lap. They'd almost lost her…this wonderful child, who Harry had grown to love very much. The panic _that_ idea sent through him eroded his guilt at Teddy's loss for now…he could deal with that later. He gripped Celesca firmly.

"I'm so sorry, honey. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm all right," she said brightly. She looked forlornly at the still-flapping Veil. "He was your relative?"

"He was my Godson," Harry explained. "I loved my own Godfather very much, from the moment I found out about him. I just assumed Teddy would be the same when he met me. It never crossed my mind he'd be so…_corrupted_. I was stupid…and more blind with _two_ eyes than I ever was with one."

"He wasn't the boy you thought he would be," said Celesca, quietly. "He was…_black_…inside. The Snake-man must have done something to him…he didn't feel _right_."

Harry hugged her close. "I'm sorry I asked you to come here for this. I won't abuse your gift again, Celesca. You're too precious to lose. And that was _far_ too close. Luna will give me scar _back_ when she finds out about this!"

Celesca giggled and clutched him tight. "I won't let her do that, don't worry. See, Lady Hermione…_this_ is how to give proper hugs. I think Master Harry should teach my husband how to cuddle when he's born…he's so _good_ at it."

* * *

Harry interlaced his fingers behind his head, took a deep breath, and leant back against the headboard of his and Hermione's bed. The images of the day were racing through his mind, now that the adrenaline had worn off. He screwed his eyes tight shut, replayed the vision of Teddy falling through the Veil, and tried to master his heartsick anguish at it.

It was like Sirius all over again. His heart ached inside his chest. This _wasn't_ how it was supposed to be. Remus and Tonks had trusted him…entailed the safety of their child to him. And he'd failed them spectacularly. Not just by allowing Teddy to die, but by allowing him to be so blackened by the taint of Tom Riddle during his short life. That was a far bigger dereliction of his own duty in Harry's mind.

He hadn't tried hard enough to find his Godson, that's was what was eating at him now. He should have prioritised that. He couldn't get to Hermione and protect her, but he could have found Teddy and protected _him_. He should have. Harry could find no good reason why he _hadn't_. He could have stopped all of the corruption, before it had a chance to take such profound roots. Harry breathed in heavy, weighted sighs and hated himself more than he had for a while recently.

"Enough now, you couldn't have done any more than you did," said Hermione crossly, speaking from the alchemy cell, which she was slowly converting to her own personal en suite bathroom. "About Teddy _or_ me."

Harry quirked a grin at her. "I thought you agreed not to read my mind anymore?"

"When? I never agreed to that," Hermione replied, evenly. "And I never _will_. I'm not stupid enough to give up a gift like _that!_"

Harry chuckled at that. "Come to bed. I need you."

Hermione stood from the little vanity table she'd installed and put down her hairbrush. And Harry lost his breath a moment. For his wife wasn't wearing her usual white cotton nightie. She was in a short, satin number. Periwinkle blue with black lace frill, around a plunging neckline, held up by flimsy straps. Her pert cleavage stood proudly as she walked to Harry, who swung himself up to sit on the edge of the bed to meet her.

Harry slid his hands to her satin silky waist and just looked her all over. He met her gaze and found her smiling down at him

"Are you _trying_ to kill me with this, or what?"

"Do you like?" she asked, giving a little curtsey. "I thought I'd try something different for you."

"And let it never be said that I don't like change!" Harry grinned. He let himself get lost in her figure for a gorgeous moment. "You're so beautiful, don't ever think you're not."

Harry slid his hands down the back of Hermione's soft legs, grinning as her knees shook when his fingertips tickled them from behind. He brought his hands back up maddeningly slowly, caressing every fraction of his wife's skin, until he reached that satin hem once more. He ran his fingers _under_ it, feeling the hot flesh of Hermione's arse and shivered pleasantly himself at the contact.

"No knickers?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do I _need_ knickers?" Hermione replied, her voice low and husky.

"Never in my presence," Harry replied smoothly.

"Maybe I'll just give them up as a bad job then," Hermione pondered. "As I intend to _always_ be in your presence!"

"Oh sweet mother of Merlin!"

Hermione laughed softly. "Are you going to be okay?"

Harry sighed deeply. "I'll have to be, won't I? I need to finish this, Min. Destroy the Horcrux, put an end to Tom Riddle for good. Then I can mourn. I'll need you for all of that. And the fallout may be worse than what it takes to win the day. Please…don't leave me if I fall to pieces."

"Oh, Harry. I'll _never_ leave you. I'm not going anywhere."

Hermione let her hands get lost in Harry's hair, drawing his head softly to her stomach and rhythmically massaging his scalp, as he continued his gentle kneading of her bum. She allowed him a brief period of self-pity, waiting until his dark minute had passed, until he drew strength from her and calmed. Arousal then came quickly, stirring in Harry, displacing the self-loathing clouding in his mind. Hermione reached down and tugged his t-shirt off, before easing him down gently onto the bed. He went without hesitation, his heart hammering as he slid back to a better position, allowing Hermione to pull off his boxers and straddle him.

She ran a teasing finger from his waistline, right up his stomach and over his chest, to rest on his lips, where he sucked it wantonly into his mouth. Hermione followed the path traced by her fingers with her tongue next, pausing to flick at Harry's nipples, which sprung to life under her ministrations. Harry gasped wildly as Hermione blew gently on them, before she continued her upward motion and captured his mouth with her own.

Hermione kissed Harry fully, but sensually, no longer inhibited by his broken skin. Her right hand snaked up and got lost in his hair again, pulling his mouth harder to her own. Harry moaned into her throat, his tongue sliding over hers as she quested for access. He gave it without a fight, his hands curling around her shoulders as if acting with minds of their own.

All the while, Hermione's moistness was slickening Harry's own potent arousal, where she was sat on him. She moved on him gently, teasing him to the brink of insanity as he got lost in her folds. His mind was racing, his pulse a million times more so. Hermione mewled softly as Harry's kisses became more passionate, and she knew she couldn't keep teasing him much longer.

Harry took control, rolling his wife gently onto her back, nuzzling crazily at her neck, as his hand caressed her still satin-covered belly and quested for her breasts. Harry released them from their flimsy cover expertly, tickling his fingers slowly around one nipple then the other, until Hermione could take no more.

"Harry, I need you inside me. Right now."

Harry, almost lost in his rampant lust, found the presence of mind to reach for his wand, despite his throbbing cock aching in protest at the delay. He raised his wand, and aimed it at Hermione.

"What are you doing?" she asked racily. She wasn't about to complain, not if Harry was going for sex magic again, not that he needed to. She was mindlessly breathless as it was.

"Contraceptive charm," said Harry, simply. "Your last one has worn off."

Hermione bit on her lip a moment, pondering the risk she was about to take. She made the decision…then snatched her hand up and grabbed Harry's wrist firmly. She looked into his eyes, so bright and vibrant, but now…so confused, also. It was still a bit odd for there to be _two_ of them now. It was taking a bit of getting used to.

But Hermione didn't need their mental connection to communicate her intent for this one.

"_Don't…_"

Hermione just focused on Harry intensely as her soft word faded, her breathing rapid and nervous. She was afraid for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction. So she repeated her instruction in that gentle, gossamer-soft tone.

"Don't…just…_don't…_"

Harry swallowed hard as understanding struck, his breath coming in shallow, uncertain rasps. He looked terrified and wonder-struck all at once, as if Hermione was offering him his best dream and he was unsure how to accept it, but knew it was all he'd ever wanted just the same.

"Y-you sure?"

Hermione smiled, and eased his wand away from her womb. "I'm sure. _Make love to me, Harry_…with nothing between us. We've nearly saved today, so let's start thinking about tomorrow…about _our_ future…starting tonight."

Harry leant down and kissed her softly, brushing her lips tenderly with his own. He parted her legs, which she curled around him as he shifted…and he took his rightful place inside her.


	20. The Land of Our Fathers

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

**Shameful Note...**sooo, in the last chapter I said this would be my last one for this fic...but then I looked at my notes and thought there's no way I can wrap it all up in one more episode. So, there will be a few more chapters. Not loads, but as many as it takes. Soz for being such a liar :)

* * *

"I now declare you…Bonded for life!"

A rousing cheer went up from the crowds at Harry's words. Myfanwy leaned over and kissed Angharad first, perhaps a little _too_ passionately for a wedding ceremony, but this was a magical wedding and pecks were for prudes. As Angharad proved _spectacularly_ a moment later_,_ by scooping Myfanwy into her arms and carrying her into the special, soundproofed marquee…where they would carry out their Bedding Ceremony, as soon as they both stopped giggling.

Everyone else filed in chirpily to watch. Fan and Ann had wanted it to be a _traditional_ wedding, after all.

"Here you go, Min," said Enola brightly, as she handed baby Alison to her. "She's just had a feed, so she wont be any trouble for an hour or so. This should all be over by then."

"Come on, little munchkin," said Hermione, calling over to Celesca, who was stood in a pretty yellow dress and matching bonnet nearby. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Hermione took Celesca's hand, as she cradled Alison in the crook of her other arm. Harry, watching just to the left of the group, let his mind drift to a most beautiful fantasy a moment. He sidled up to them and took up Celesca's free hand in his own.

"I don't understand why _I_ have to go away, when no-one else does," Celesca frowned, as Harry and Hermione began leading her away from the temporary altar, which was still nicely shaded by the gazebo erected above it. "I was a flower girl, after all."

"You were, sweetheart," Hermione soothed. "And a better flower girl we could not have found in the whole world!"

Celesca was pacified at that. "But I still have to go?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Harry. "The brides have to conduct a ritual now, and little children aren't allowed to see it."

"Oh. I see. They'll be taking all their clothes off, then."

Hermione laughed. "What makes you say that?"

"Because _loads_ of things grown-ups do - that kids aren't allowed to see - involve everyone taking their clothes off," said Celesca, sagely. "You all like taking your clothes off _way_ too much. You do it for _everything_. I wonder why you wear them at all sometimes. I hope _I_ don't have to start taking my clothes off all the time when I get older. I don't want everyone seeing my foofy."

Harry choked out a laugh at that. "You just keep up with that attitude, sweetheart, and you'll go far!"

Hermione smirked at him and shook her head.

"And it's such a shame, because Miss Myfanwy and Miss Angharad had on such pretty matching dresses," Celesca went on. She was right. The sky-blue gowns had been stunning. "But…can I ask a question?"

"You can ask as many as you like," said Harry, helping Celesca onto a little wrought iron bench at the bottom of the garden, far away from the temporary bed chamber up near the house.

"And keep asking till you run out," Hermione added, sliding down onto the bench next to Luna's daughter and adjusting Alison into a better position in her lap.

"Well, first…will they be called _Mrs and Mrs_ now?" asked Celesca.

"Now that they're married, yes," Hermione replied.

"And who's name will they have on the end? Because usually the wife has to take the husband's name, doesn't she? Like you…Hermione _Potter_. But…they are _both_ wives…so how do they pick?"

Hermione just took a few seconds to swoon at the sound of her married name. She rather thought she always would.

"It is traditional, you're right," said Hermione. "But sometimes people have _both_ names. I've just always wanted to be _Hermione Potter,_ so there was no way I'd be anything else once I became Harry's wife."

Celesca nodded in solemn understanding. "I'm looking forward to being Celesca _Potter_ when I get married, too."

Harry blew out a surprised breath. Celesca's ease with divining the future left him astonished.

"But, my other question is…_how_ can they be married? Because they're both _girls_," said Celesca, innocently.

"Is that a problem, do you think?" asked Harry.

"No…it's just…girls normally marry _boys_, don't they? Celesca queried. "I mean, they can't have babies with just girls, can they?"

"There's no reason why girls can't marry girls, or boys marry boys," said Hermione. "A Marriage Bond is cast between two_ people_. It doesn't matter what the configuration is."

"_Configuration_?" Harry quirked. "You old romantic, you!"

"Shut it, Harry!" Hermione chortled back.

"It's really quite simple, Cesc," said Harry. "Myfanwy and Angharad love each other very much, and want to make the commitment to spend the rest of their lives together. Just like me and Hermione. They're good girls…and they have just as much right to be miserable in marriage as the rest of us!"

Harry winked at Hermione, who swatted at him behind Celesca's head.

"I see. But what about babies?"

"If they decide they _want_ to have children, they can find a wizard to help them and they could _both_ have babies if they wanted," said Hermione.

"Oh _yeah_!" Celesca chirruped brightly, her eyes popping wide. "I never thought of _that_. They'd just need a wizard to give them some of his tadpoles, wouldn't they?"

"Tadpoles?" asked Harry, cluelessly confused.

"Yes, _tadpoles_," said Hermione pointedly. "It's all about tadpoles in our world, honey."

"And don't forget the weird eggs with no shells," said Celesca seriously. This was a facet of baby making she'd made pretty clear she would _never_ be comfortable with. Forget all the messy habit of naked cuddling, the idea of an egg with no shell was the most mind-blowing thing in Celesca's range of conception.

And, for a _Seer_, that was saying something.

"No, we shouldn't forget those," said Hermione, grinning at the perplexed look on Harry's face.

"But would the babies be okay? With just having two mummies and no daddy, do you think?" asked Celesca.

"Well, you didn't have a daddy and you turned out pretty good," Harry pointed out.

"I did have Uncle Clive, and he played being a Daddy quite well," said Celesca thoughtfully.

"Just look at me then," said Harry. "The evil snake-man took my mum and dad away from me before I knew them…and you've seen how horrible my aunt and uncle were. And I'm pretty okay. Mostly. I mean, I've married the most beautiful woman under the sky…so I can't be _all_ that bad!"

Harry swapped looks with Hermione, who just smiled at him adoringly.

"Hmmm, Lady Hermione _is_ the prettiest witch," Celesca pondered, to which Hermione mock swooned to Harry. "I think, though, that's why you're going to be _such_ a good Daddy, you know."

"I…I-I am?" Harry stumbled, shaken by Celesca's cast-iron certainty on this, one of his most fundamental life goals. "What makes you so sure?"

She turned to him with those expressive blue eyes. "Well, you've seen how it can be done so _wrong_…by your bad uncle and the snake-man to your poor Godson…and you know what you missed by not having your _own_ Daddy…so you know how to do everything _right_ with your own little boys and girls."

Harry just pulled Celesca tightly to him, saying nothing. He didn't trust himself to. She had swelled his heart into his throat and pushed tears behind his eyes again. Hermione reached over behind Celesca's head and took Harry's hand in her own, smiling gently and smoothing his skin in support and utter agreement at Celesca's declaration. Harry just hugged Luna's daughter - who was perfectly content not to know the reason why she was being so lovingly embraced - and hoped his children were half as wonderful as her when they came along. Hermione's expression, her glowing skin and bright eyes, threatened to melt Harry if he looked at them too long.

"Why all the questions about girls marrying girls, honey?" asked Hermione gently, as Harry let her go reluctantly. "Are you worried that _you_ might want to marry a girl when you get older? It's perfectly fine if that's what happens, you need to know that."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm going to marry your son," said Celesca, biting her lip in a burst of anxiety. "I really want to do that. But I'm not _always_ right. What if I like girls, like Angharad and Myfanwy?"

"Well, it's simple," said Harry. "You'll just have to marry one of our _daughters_ instead!"

"Oh…well, yes, I suppose I could do that, couldn't I?" Celesca pondered. "Okay. We'll call that _Plan B_. But I still think I'd rather marry your son. I've made up my mind on that. Besides, if I _did_ marry one of your daughters, I don't think she'd like his tadpoles making babies with her eggs, would she?"

"No, sweetheart, that's just all sorts of wrong," said Hermione, darkly.

Harry just laughed and wondered when his world had become so _normal_. And to think…a couple more murders might be all it took to keep it this way _forever. _And, for the first time in his life, Harry felt in complete control of his own destiny. That was something he could _definitely_ achieve. It was startling and, for a second, he was a little afraid of it.

Then he flicked a look at his wife, beaming as she listened to Celesca babbling happily away. And Harry felt his heart soar in his chest. Hermione had mastered holding baby Alison, even going so far as to almost subconsciously adjust the way she was rocking her, in response to the little baby noises she was gurgling out, as though understanding a new language between them. And she was attentive and encouraging to Celesca, prompting her curiosity in all the right ways and easing her towards the correct conclusions on life. And a bolt of understanding hit Harry like a happy arrow to the heart.

Hermione was _good_ at this…good at being a _Mum. _Harry felt his throat tauten at that. He just watched them a minute…and felt like he was watching his future. Then he had to excuse himself and disappear into his secret copse nearby. If was going to cry these silly, joyous tears - which he _so_ was - then at least the fountain would be able to mask the sound of his girly weeping.

* * *

"Well…that was…_different!"_

Harry guffawed and took another glass of champagne from a platter Sally was offering around. Harry had intended on enchanting the platters to float themselves, but Sally was so excited at having two arms again that she insisted on being able to carry things for the party, just to show them off to everyone. It was only when she threatened to put permanent sticking charms on Hermione's underwear - for she was now back in her role as Lady Potter's personal helper-elf - that Harry quickly, and emphatically, gave in.

Neville helped himself to a glass, too, as Harry continued to chortle at him.

"I remember seeing a few sex rituals when I was in the U.S." said Harry. "The Osage tribe have dwelled in the Ozarks since the beginning of recorded history. I went there looking for a cure for my scar. They invited me to add my magic to the marriage ritual of the Chief Elder's son, as they felt I was a prophecy sent by their Star People Ancestors. Poor kid. He was only 18 or so, and they made him fuck his bride - who was _stunning_, by the way - in Crooked Creek, which flows there, in front of the _entire_ tribe. It was at midnight, the water was _freezing_, and it took three anti-impotence charms just to keep him hard!

"They gave me this beautiful ceremonial headdress as a thank you. It can help with spiritual journeys…if you want to smoke a whole bunch of herbal drugs and get off your tits first! I rather thought my mind was fucked up enough as it was, so I've never tried it!"

Neville spat out a laugh at that. "Well, _this_ ritual was a bit different to that."

"In a word?"

"One isn't enough, mate," Neville quirked. "_Hottest fucking thing ever!_ That might just cover it! I don't know what it is about lesbian sex…but the answer was in _there_ somewhere. Merlin, they fuck like _pros_."

Harry thundered out a laugh. It didn't surprise him. He couldn't remember a _gentle_ display of affection between Fan and Ann…even their 'good morning' kisses were like a tempter from a red-lit window in Amsterdam.

"Seriously, brother, it's a good thing you weren't there," said Neville. "You and Hermione can hardly keep your mitts off each other as it is. If you'd seen _that_…you'd have probably triggered a mass orgy!"

Harry shook his head. "I'm disappointed that you and Ennie _didn't_!"

Neville shifted awkwardly and moved to the window of the reception marquee, where they were enjoying the party, in what might have been the last sunshine of the Welsh Summer. Harry, concerned, went with him.

"Nev?"

"Sorry, Harry, it's just…not easy for me to say things like this," said Neville, looking more shifty than ever.

"What things?"

And then, without warning, he turned and snatched Harry into a bone-crushing hug, breaking five years of unspoken propriety that they'd established between them. Harry, to his own surprise, found he didn't mind. So he hugged Neville back.

They broke apart, somewhat awkwardly. "Okay. What's come over you? Has watching a lesbian wedding stirred that latent homosexuality I always suspected in you?"

Neville chortled. "No, not quite. Though I'd better acclimatise to that. Because if I hear Ennie say one more time how we've got to tempt you and Hermione into a little tryst…you should have kept the scar, mate. Ennie is _dead_ serious about that now you're all _gorgeous_ again."

Harry swallowed his shock and gave a nervous laugh. But Neville's expression didn't change. He wasn't joking…Harry wasn't sure what he thought about that.

"But, no, it's just that," Neville began, embarrassed. "I've not had a chance to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you did for me," said Neville, his cheeks turning scarlet. "For my _problem._"

Ah. Now Harry understood. But Neville, it seemed, didn't think he did.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am, because I can't put proper words to it," he said quietly. "I…I was _failing,_ Harry. Not as a man, there's more to being a man than _that_. But as a husband. And a father. I couldn't make love to my wife, to show her in the most powerful way I can just how much I love her. I couldn't get my body to respond to her the way my mind and heart were, and I know she blamed herself.

"And I couldn't do anything about it. Then it started to plague my mind. I started finding excuses to not be intimate with her. I couldn't stand to see that disappointment on her face. And it was _always_ there. She kept trying…and I just couldn't do it. And the way her face fell _every_ time she couldn't get me aroused…I cried, Harry. She held me and told me it wasn't my fault, but I was so helpless.

"And I might still have been, if you hadn't spent all that time working on the spells for Hermione. Ennie told me you hoped they might be able to help me, too. I don't know what I did to deserve you as a friend…but I think Merlin, himself, has blessed me to have you as a _brother_."

Harry was stunned by Neville's admission. He put down his champagne, and drew Neville into another hug. Neville was stung by tears and leant down onto Harry's shoulder, for he was a fair bit taller than him.

"You're wrong," said Harry, patting Neville's back as he wept. Hermione and Enola looked over in mild concern from across the marquee, but Harry offset their movements toward him with a wave of his hand. "It's me who's the lucky one. To have Hermione, as the most perfect wife, and you and Ennie as the perfect siblings… all things Tom Riddle tried to deny me the chance to ever have. You are _my_ _family_…and I would fuck the world up for you. But I think _actually_ fucking you might be borderline incest!"

Neville hammered out a laugh and stood away from Harry, drying his snivels. "Yeah, that's what we'll use to throw Ennie off her lusty ideas!"

"They'll only get worse, brother," said Harry. "As the _hormones_ kick in!"

Neville grinned wildly at that. "You've heard then? What am I saying…of course you have. I can't believe it, really."

"Congratulations, mate," said Harry, smiling. "I'm over the moon for you both, honestly."

"And that's all down to you, too."

"Why? _Did_ I fuck Enola after all?" Harry quirked. "So much has gone on in the last few months…I can't keep track!"

Neville chuckled at that. "You know what I mean. It's all we've both ever dreamed about, and we thought it had been taken away from us. But now…you've made it possible again."

"Shut up, you big girl," Harry teased.

"I'm serious," said Neville. And he _totally_ was. "And it's not just because you've fixed my cock problem. Look at all you've done for everyone - provided this place, sacrificed so much to become super powerful, brought us all under your protection. Then you've taken the fight to fucking Riddle, wiped out the Weasleys, defeated Dumbledore. You've given us all a fighting chance…at a _future_.

"I know you always hated being called _The-Boy-Who-Lived…_but I think we might have to start calling you _The-Man-Who-Gave-Life_…to us all."

Harry felt stupefied. He gulped against his meekness. "It doesn't have the same ring to it, does it? You should patent it, though, sell robes with it on, or something."

Neville chuckled. "I know Hermione isn't your _reward_ for everything, but you have so earned the chance to be happy…and she makes you that a million times over. That's something I've not said, either…I'm fucking so happy for you, mate…to have finally _gotten the girl!_"

Harry grinned back. "I still don't really believe it. Every day I have to wake up and touch her…just to make sure she's still there and that I haven't just dreamt the entire fucking thing!"

"Yeah, we all know about your _touching_," Neville grinned. "Why do you think I had to spell the downstairs windows with _permanent_ repairing charms! Merlin, Harry, the _passion_ between you two…how do you _survive_ it!?"

Harry laughed aloud. "I honestly don't know. She blows my fucking head off…and don't be crude, before you even open your mouth! That's my _wife's_ honour you're about to besmirch!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Neville grinned. He raised his glass in a gesture of toast. "To our beautiful wives…and the charity they've shown in picking us as husbands!"

"I'll drink to that," said Harry, clinking his glass against Neville's and drinking deeply. "So…any preference? Girl or boy?"

"Has to be a boy, I think," Neville considered. "Ennie wants the set…apparently, so does _Hermione."_

"Yeah, we both do," said Harry, unashamedly. Neville blinked in surprise. "I can trust you with a secret, can't I?"

"You know you can," said Neville, proudly.

Harry looked around to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone else. "We've decided to…er…_start trying_."

Neville's jaw hit the floor. "What…_really_! Oh, wow, Harry…that's amazing!"

"I know," said Harry, grinning shyly. "We weren't going to tell anyone, but I know Hermione's told Enola, who is bound to tell you. She's the _worst_ at holding onto secrets!"

"She really is!" Neville laughed. "I'd never make her a Secret Keeper. Even the Fidelius Charm wouldn't keep her flapping jaw shut! But…wow. When did you decide this?"

"Well…_Hermione_ decided for us both, really," said Harry. He sighed in resigned defeat. "I kind of think that's going to be the way of things in our marriage."

"Which will come as a huge shock to absolutely no-one!" Neville quirked. Harry couldn't disagree. "But…you're okay with it? Having a baby, I mean?"

Harry shivered in excited pleasure as the words washed over him. He was grinning insanely. He knew he was. He caught Hermione's eye at that moment, and she was left in no doubt what he was up to. She simply smiled back her approval. Harry had the distinct impression she had just imparted the same good information to _Lady_ Longbottom, just as Harry was telling it to her husband.

"Yeah I'm bloody all right!" Harry cried quietly. "I'm fucking _ecstatic_, if you must know. I just…need to provide a safe world now…for _both_ our babies."

Neville sighed deeply. "I know that, brother. But, just take today off, Harry. The Horcrux will still be there tomorrow. And it's at your mercy now that its' defences are down. How are coping…with _that_?"

It was a landmine topic. Harry was cognizant of that. He admired Neville's courage for bringing it up. Harry sipped on his champagne as he considered his reply.

"It's fucked up, mate," he said eventually. "My Godson is dead…I should feel awful. But, for some reason, I can't get as deeply affected by it as I should be. He had been…_perverted_…by Tom Riddle. That wasn't Remus and Tonks' son that fell through the Veil. It was _Riddle's. _I'm trying to convince myself of that.

"I'm more guilty that I left him to be so corrupted in the first place. I was so focused on myself, on Hermione…I forget about Teddy."

"You didn't know what Riddle was doing to all those kids," said Neville, reassuringly. "But we can expect more of that zealous attitude. The best way to make amends is to cure _them_ of Riddle's stain. Besides, he tried to _murder_ Celesca. I _saw_ that intent, Harry. He knew what he was doing. And I know you _love_ that girl…you had to pick her over any sense of duty towards Teddy."

Harry took a heavy breath. "I know, I know…I've had nightmares about it. If little Cesc had fallen through…I might have killed Teddy myself. I _know_ Hermione would have. She wouldn't have even hesitated."

"I know it wont be much consolation, but at least _that_ wasn't the outcome for you," said Neville. "Teddy…or _Theo_…fell through to the next world. He wasn't pushed, you didn't have to actually take his life. And he'll be with his parents now. His _real_ ones. We can only hope they can help him where we were unable to."

Harry nodded his head at that. "Okay. I'll take a day off. We'll get a little bit drunk, have some laughs, then I'll see if I've still got it in me to try for a baby with the wife later."

"That's the spirit," said Neville, chortling. "Merlin…that's all we're going to hear for the next year, isn't it? Baby talk."

"Probably," Harry sighed. "Hermione's quite looking forward to having a baby bump…excellent book rest, apparently!"

Neville hooted a laugh, and steered Harry back to their women folk.

* * *

Harry's day off turned into three, on account of his stinking hangover following the wedding celebrations. Hermione permitted it, as his first drunken misdemeanor of their marriage, but made it clear that she would only tolerate one proper drinking session a month, or else she'd get cross with him. Harry made a jokey, backhanded comment about them both having a grumpy, grouchy _time of the month _in that case, which Hermione didn't see the funny side of at all. She avoided him for the rest of the day, only to apologise in an emotional burst later when they were in bed…as _her_ time of the month had hit that morning and she was all sorts of up and down.

Apparently, she had been cheerily convinced that she'd get pregnant at the first time of trying, and was angry that her body was defying her on this.

To try and cheer her up, Harry invited Hermione to a special meeting he had set up in Cardiff. He thought they could make a day out of it, see a few sights and Harry promised not to tease her, by saying how it was some incredible feat of magic that Hermione could bleed for five days and not die, and other such funnies. She agreed, and promised to only maim him if he continued to make bad jokes about her menstrual cycle, after he asked if he could put playing cards in her spokes…

It was a week into October, and the transition to Autumn was really starting to take hold. The forest directly outside the shield ward was like a Bob Ross painting, full of browns and reds and ochres. They even had the bumpy hills of the Brecon Beacons to complete this stunning backdrop. Harry was a big fan of the magical worlds' greatest artist, and the Grand Gallery of the Blue Palace was replete with his works. Harry hoped to tempt him to visit one day, but he rarely left Alaska, where he had retired, after faking his death in the Muggle world, to spend more time with his happy little trees and his family.

Harry and Hermione strolled hand-in-hand through this lush, picturesque valley. The first fallen leaves crunched underfoot, early morning songbirds called out against the silent sky and shafts of light cut through the dense canopy overhead, lighting their way.

Hermione curled into Harry, taking his forearm with her free hand. "We'll be able to do this without fear soon. I can't _wait_ for that."

"I'm not afraid," said Harry, cocking his head to her. "I'm with you."

"Hey - stop stealing my goofy lines!" Hermione complained good-naturedly.

"We're married now, Miss Granger, what's mine is yours!"

Hermione laughed softly and clung a bit tighter. "Including _your_ surname. It's _Mrs Potter_, thank you very much. Though I will answer to _Lady Potter_, if you insist."

"I will today," said Harry. "The meeting I've set up will require strict formalities. Lord and Lady and all that."

"Why, where are we going?"

"Well, do you remember all those months back, when we were paid a visit by the Prince of Dyfed?" asked Harry.

Hermione stopped in her surprise. "_Merlin, _Harry…that seems like a lifetime ago!"

Harry guffawed and steered her on. "Doesn't it just. Well, it occurred to me, when we were talking about our future, that I have a responsibility not just to us…but to the whole country. So, I've set up a meeting to discuss that."

"You're talking about…the _Crown…_aren't you?" Hermione breathed lowly.

Harry nodded. "That's why I wanted to take this walk with you this morning. We aren't going to walk all the way to Cardiff, but we two, you and I, need to discuss how we proceed in this quite delicate matter."

Hermione fell into stride alongside Harry and regarded him, carefully. "What are your thoughts on it?"

"The simple one is that I don't want to be King of England," said Harry bluntly. "It was never in my life plan, and I just don't want that sort of burden. I said that to Queen Elizabeth."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. I can't say I really like the idea of being Queen, either. Always in the public eye, a cheerleader for tourism. I want to be able to _do_ something with my life that doesn't involve all that."

"I'm so glad we agree on that," said Harry, squeezing her hand. "I've heard you talking about being a Queen…I just wasn't sure how far that went for you."

"Harry…I'm _your_ Queen. In every way. And we have our palace…that's fairytale enough for me. Let's leave the business of monarchy to someone else."

"I love you, don't ever forget that," said Harry. "You are just too perfect for me. I hope you don't wake up and realise that one day."

Hermione laughed again. "I've _already_ realised that, sweetie. But I decided to give you a whirl anyway."

"Your charity know no bounds, my Lady!" Harry quirked.

"So, if we aren't going to be King and Queen of Britain, who are?" asked Hermione.

"That's what we're going to decide today," said Harry. "I'm going to have to accept a title, there's no way around it. So will you, as my wife. But the ancient seals have been reignited. What's done is done."

"I don't know what you're getting at, but okay. I'll go along with it."

By now they had emerged from the forest. They were moving alongside a babbling little brook, looking down over the sweeping vista of the beautiful Brecon valley. Sweeping green and ochre fields, the remnants of old mines, a large reservoir glistening and twinkling in the distance. The locals called this God's Own Country…and as Harry and Hermione walked through and basked it its magnificence, they were hard-pressed to disagree.

"I, whether I want it or not, have the power of Regency over the British throne," said Harry. "I can sit on it, or nominate someone to do it for me. But ultimate authority remains my right to claim at any time. Though in order to do that, I have to be officially invested in a high rank that is second only to that of the Monarch…to be next in line, so to speak."

Hermione gasped as comprehension dawned. "The _Prince of Wales_! You're going to become the Prince of Wales!"

Harry nodded. "When I took Excalibur it wasn't because I was Arthur Pendragon reincarnated. He's just an ancient ancestor. But the Sword has always been the Badge of Office of the House of Avalon, from which all other magical Houses can trace their descent. The ancient power seats in Wales have been dormant for hundreds of years, since the English crown subjugated this country."

"But your claiming the title has re-awoken them," Hermione nodded. "I see."

"Exactly," said Harry. "While we've been off fighting Riddle, the old Welsh kingdoms have declared their magical independence from the English crown, but there hasn't been a monarch to ratify it. The Scots and Irish already have it, it's wrong that the Welsh continue to be denied this freedom."

"And that's what you're going to do?"

"As my one and only act as King of the Britons, yes," said Harry. "If you're content to just be the Princess of Wales, that is."

Hermione went a little dreamy for a moment. She liked the idea of being a Princess much more than being a Queen, which was odd.

"I'm sure I can cope with that," she smirked. "I mean, look how stunning this place is! Someone else can have the London Eye…I'll just keep these beautiful hills and valleys, thanks."

Harry laughed at her. "And we have more castles than anywhere in Europe. We could set up a rival school to Hogwarts with all that money we have, if we wanted."

Hermione's face lit up. "Oh…_Harry!_ Can we? What am I saying…that's _my_ money! Of course we can. Oh…we are _so_ doing that, sweetheart!"

"Another bet for the name?" Harry chuckled. "You did say Best Two out of Three?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me come up with a name first, then we'll decide. Oh, wow, Harry…we _have_ to kill Riddle…and quickly. I've got so much to _do_ now!"

Harry laughed at her. "Well, speaking of castles, we'd better get to our first one."

He took out a piece of rope from his cloak and offered one end to Hermione.

"Portkey?" she queried.

"It will be," Harry replied, before drawing his wand and proving good to his word.

They emerged at the top of the Norman Keep, at the heart of the Cardiff Castle grounds. From here they could look out across the bustling Capital - as the Castle stood at the absolute centre - which was already in the throes of morning life. Green and orange buses swept along the roads of Kingsway and Castle Street, shuttling coffee-laden commuters and shoppers into the busy city centre. The sun was low overhead, peaking through a silvery cloud-deck, and it speckled the battlements and the pretty clocktower and caused the scores of international flags hoisted from the ramparts to flap and flutter in a light breeze.

Harry watched the giant Welsh flag, with it's roaring red dragon, wave in front of them, over the draw bridge of the entrance gate, as though welcoming a Prince back to his throne. Which, of course, it pretty much was. Harry stirred at that, his heart thrumming gently beneath his ribs. He'd never had a home…not since Riddle had destroyed his parents…but this country was starting to feel awfully like one.

Then Hermione gasped in astonishment. "Harry…there are _peacocks_ down there! Look!"

Harry followed her line of sight to the well manicured-lawns beneath the Keep. And she was right. Peacocks, maybe half-a-dozen of them, were strutting around and having a jolly old time.

"Ooh, can we go and see them?" Hermione asked adorably, like an excited child.

Harry wasn't about to deny her anything, and this was an easy win. So they ambled down through the semi-ruined Keep, across a little footbridge and onto a gravel path, where they watched the peacocks strut and stroll and flash their purple and blue plumages.

"Oh, Harry! Aren't they beautiful!" Hermione whispered, clinging tight to Harry's arm. He sort of agreed. The feathers were nice but the birds themselves looked cross and moody. Harry was keen to keep them at arms length.

As they were already there, Harry and Hermione decided to take a complete tour of the castle, from its Roman walls to the opulent Victorian Gothic apartments. It was rather breathtaking, but Hermione ruled it out as a possible new school, which Harry was pleased with. Converting a derelict old castle somewhere remote was one thing…denying Cardiff one of its most iconic visitor attractions would be a completely different kind of nightmare.

Harry and Hermione left the castle and made their way through the city. They passed an ancient pub, complete with Tudor black-beam rafters, that Harry was determined to revisit later, a Georgian church and the Old Market, which was once site of the jail and Hangman's Noose, but now was a vibrant bazaar of fish-sellers, local traders and such a mix of sights and smells that it was a little dizzying.

They moved beyond that, through the thoroughfare of the modern shopping district of the city, weaving between zoned-out, earphone-clad teens and harassed mothers with more kids than they could manage. They eventually stopped, outside a modest-sized concert theatre.

"St. David's Hall," Harry explained, as Hermione sent him a quizzical stare. "It's where the Knights meet. Come on."

Harry led the way inside. There was an old chap manning the reception. Harry flashed him his family ring as they approached the desk. The man bowed deeply, then guided Harry and Hermione around the back of the reception desk. There was a cloak room here, cool and dimly lit. The old man pulled down on a seemingly random clothes hook…and the wall behind it dissolved to reveal an ancient elevator, similar to the ones at the Ministry of Magic in London.

Harry and Hermione entered the elevator, the old man closed the grate and the wall reappeared, throwing everything into a palpable darkness. Hermione clung tight to Harry, but the darkness was so complete he couldn't even see her face…though she was so close her breath tickled his ear. The lift rattled down what must have been dozens of floors beneath the ground, for it took a good ten minutes before light re-appeared below them and they came to a juddering halt.

They stepped from the lift and made their way along a short corridor, which led to a single, large room. Hermione lost her breath at the sight. For they were standing at the top of a bowl-like amphitheatre. It was made from dull viridian stone, and a dim light source shone from a point high in the cavernous ceiling. There must have been seating space for several thousand people in here. But, right now, it was silent and deserted.

"Don't be afraid," said Harry, holding Hermione's hand as he sensed the rise of her emotion. "You're quite safe here. Come on."

Harry led her down the shallow stairs into the very centre of the amphitheatre. There should have been a stage here, and maybe on some occasions there was, but right now there were just four circular, stone platforms and another, larger one facing them all. It looked like an archaic version of the transporter pads from the Starship Enterprise.

"I see everything's ready," said Harry. "Come…stand with me, Princess Hermione."

She grinned in a silly sort of way and ambled up to Harry's side.

"This is the King's Circle," said Harry. "When I activate _this,"_ he pointed to a rune panel on his right. "It will call the four Princes of the ancient Welsh kingdoms. They won't actually _be_ here, but will be mere projections. Don't step out of the circle, or you wont be able to see or hear them. Ready?"

Hermione nodded. Harry placed his wand to the rune stone.

"Princes! I summon you!"

There was a rush of energy to the right-most circle, quickly followed by another two circles to the left. Soon, all four were filled with fluttering images of regal-looking wizards, only one of whom Hermione recognised.

"I, Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed swear solemn fealty to Lord Harry Potter!"

Pwyll bowed his head to his chest.

"Hello, Prince of Dyfed," said Harry. "It is good to see you again. And how is your daughter?"

Pwyll looked up bashfully. "Very well, my Lord. And happy _not_ to be married! May I be the first to offer my congratulations on _your_ happy marriage, however."

"Thank you, Lord of Dyfed," Hermione beamed. "You will pass on our well wishes to Branwen."

"I will, thank you, my Lady."

Then the others introduced themselves. There was Llewellyn of Clwyd, Owen of Gwent, and Dayfdd of Powys.

"And I am Harry, Prince of Gwynedd, and King of the Britons by the ancient protocol of Arthurian Accession," said Harry. "And this, is my wife…Princess Hermione."

"Princess!" the others chorused in salute. It was a good job it was dark, for Hermione's blush might just have caused them all a little bit of concern.

"I have called you here today, gentleman, to discuss the matter of the English throne…and of our own," Harry went on. "I am close now to defeating the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. His destruction will be complete in no more than a month from this date. After that, we must turn our attention to the state of our country. Lord of Powys…the current climate, if you please."

"We have formally lodged our claim for magical independence," the Prince replied. "But, in the current power vacuum in London, we have not had a response."

"The Muggle world remains in a state of high emergency," Lord Clwyd added. "The Royal Family are being kept under the most stringent security. The sons of Prince Charles came to your aid when fighting at the Hengest camp, but have not left the security of the Tower of London for any reason since."

"Then that's where they should remain," said Harry. "Gentleman, let it be known that I intend to grant Wales magical independence…then turn over Regency of the British crown to the next in line from the House of Windsor."

"My Lord," said Lord Dyfed, as the others nodded their excited approval. "That may not be entirely suitable."

"And why not?"

"Well, it's Prince Charles, you see," said Lord Dyfed. "The public execution of his mother, Queen Elizabeth, affected him hugely. He has had a break from reality, and his health is in a very poor state. I would recommend promoting William, his eldest son, to the office of King."

"I have heard about poor Charles," said Harry, sadly. "But, gentleman, as you know - as the Heads of the Order of the Knights of St David - I can only nominate a successor to the throne if _I_ assume the title of the next in line…as _Prince of Wales_, myself."

The Prince of Dyfed immediately drew his wand, and placed it to his chest.

"I, Pwyll, recognise Harry Potter as rightful Crown Prince of Wales. I swear fealty to him and his kin, so all here bear witness."

Harry felt the oath fall on him, like a wave of heat from his head down to his chest. He felt it three times more, as the other Princes quickly followed Pwyll's example. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was wearing a surprised expression. The oath must have settled on her, too. Harry took her hand and squeezed, earning a loving smile in return.

"All hail Prince Harry the First! May his reign be long and prosperous."

The other princes knelt, and Hermione suddenly did, too. Harry tried to tug her back to her feet. But she resisted.

"It's just for the ceremony, Harry," said Hermione, before grinning at him. "Don't go getting any ideas of being in charge of me, though. We both know where the power lies in our relationship!"

"And I give it gladly!" Harry laughed back. He turned to the others. "Arise, my Princes. Lord Powys, please send word of what has taken place here, and our intentions, to London. I will meet the Royal Family when I can safely deliver the country back to them.

"Everyone else, I ask humbly that you make land and provision available. This war has cost many lives and there are shattered families that will need assistance and convalescence, both at home and those who will return from abroad. I will need to call on your charity and hospitality before long. Till then…to the Land of Our Fathers!"

"The Land of Our Fathers!" the princes called back, before vanishing one by one.

As soon as they were alone, Hermione turned to Harry. "Well…_my Prince_…that was interesting!"

"Indeed, _Princess_ Hermione," Harry quirked. "We will have to get you a crown."

Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't. Celesca would simply steal it first chance she got! So…what now?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Now comes the hard part. Destroying that Horcrux. Any ideas?"

Hermione moved to him, eyeing him shrewdly. "Do you know who I am? I'm Hermione Potter…_of course_ I have some ideas. And the _best_ one, might just kill two problems with one ritual."

"Oh yeah, and what would they be?"

"Well, the Horcrux is one, obviously," said Hermione. "And the other, if my theory works out, might just help clean up your mind. Come on, lets go home…we have a date with the Longbottoms."

* * *

Hermione was confident that her plan would work. She didn't make a habit out of failure. But even so, she was nervous as Neville and Enola began their chanting, a key part of the ritual they'd designed for her. Hermione simply held onto Harry's hand, laying magically sedated on the altar of the Ritual Room, hopeful that she wouldn't lose him in all this. But the whole thing was fraught with risk.

After all, opening Harry's dark mindscape to the world at large could leave a gaping hole in the Earth itself, if it got loose.

But that's exactly what they were trying to do. Hermione had been playing with the idea for several weeks now, ever since Harry had told her that Enola had managed to successfully close down her own mind planes save for one, which she kept Neville's painful secrets in. It was possible, Enola had done it.

And, by Hermione's logic, she must have dealt with whatever issues she had there beforehand.

That realisation had led her to think about Harry. His planes were darker, more volatile, but the principle must have been the same. So she'd sought out Enola for an explanation. And the seeds of an idea took root in Hermione's epic brain. For Enola had used the Ritual Room, projected her inner demons into the magically charged space, and had defeated them, with Harry and Neville's help.

Now, Hermione was going to do the same with Harry…and then direct all his darkness into battle with Tom Riddle's last Horcrux. It was a mighty risk. They were going to be releasing the spirit of Gellert Grindelwald - who Riddle had used as a soul anchor for the last part of his soul - and there was no telling how he'd react. Hermione was hoping he'd be up for a spot of revenge against Riddle, but there was no way to be sure.

So Hermione had coaxed Neville into coming along as well. He was resting his head against the hilt of Gryffindor's sword as he chanted, pulling its power to add to his own. The magic in the room was heaving like a raging ocean and Hermione was shocked by how out of control it seemed without Harry to direct and channel it. She'd been brassy with him about it before, perhaps not fully appreciating the effort it took to keep all this in hand.

But Hermione was finding out first hand just how far she had to go to reach his level.

Enola was actually leading the ritual, but even she was skirting with the borders of her control limits. She was connected to Harry on a deeply cerebral level now, drawing the contents of his mind planes one at a time. She and Hermione had come up with a clever little spell to make it seem as if the Horcrux _was_ Harry, using his connection to Gryffindor as the binding part of the enchantment. That was the incarnation of Harry that would have to face and fight his demons at last…and those closest to his heart were ranged right alongside him.

Enola started with Harry's childhood pain - which had been sated slightly since the demise of the Dursleys - to see if it had worked. Hermione watched in amazement as figures of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley materialised before them. They were monstrous, possibly exaggerated versions from Harry's mind…and hideously more terrifying as a result.

Hermione found this hard to watch. She knew she would, but equally she knew she had to see, to understand utterly what Harry went though with all this. Closing the planes would require him to face this…to beat it…and he'd need her desperately in his recovery. But right now _it_ was beating him, in the form of Vernon's belt, Dudley's boxing-trained fists and Petunia's inhumane level of care.

Harry was hurting from it, Hermione could feel that, but the Horcrux was being damaged, too. It was pummelled and burned and cut by insults, as if absorbing the physical blows that had been constantly re-wounding Harry's psyche for years. But he didn't seem able to overcome it, and Hermione knew of no way to help.

Then aid came from the most astonishing source.

There was a crackle of energy, a powerful sweep of magic that seemed to erupt from the air itself. Then the Veil started to flap crazily in its arch, as if assaulted by a hurricane. Hermione watched it curiously…then her mouth dropped open. For _someone _was coming through…

"Petunia! Enough! You will stop and face me now!"

The spectral Dursley's all froze at the command of the furious, booming voice. Hermione and Enola just stared, totally gobsmacked.

"My son! My son was placed in your care! And you _abused_ him like this! Your souls are mine…for eternity!"

And Lily Potter flashed out a bolt of ice-white light, which lassoed around the Dursley's like a whip. A whip of fire, perhaps, for they shrieked out at the contact with it. Lily pulled hard, and swung the spectral Dursley's through the Veil and into their own personal, Potter-driven Hell. And the Horcrux fell still.

Lily stepped forwards and stood by Hermione. "Good evening…Mrs Potter. We thought you might need a hand with this."

"Lily! I mean…Mrs Potter!" Hermione stumbled out. "How did you know?"

"This Veil is connected to our realm, just like the Stone in Harry's room down on the third basement level," said Lily. "This is quite an extraordinary idea you had, my dear. But it's a couple of degrees above your current skill grade. Only Harry could hope to control the worst part of this, but you're starting to think like him. Which is wonderful. But you need help…there are some more of us who'll be along in a minute. Keep going!"

"Ennie!" Hermione called.

Harry's guilt over Hermione came next, and it was she who pulled this free. She didn't need Lily to tell her what do do with this, but was thankful Harry's mum was there to help her do it just the same. They collected it, then sent it spiralling at the Horcrux with a surge of forgiving intent. Hermione didn't hold Harry responsible for a single fragment of the things that had happened to her, but she was mindful of the fact that he _did_…and he needed to consider himself forgiven if he was ever going to move on.

Hermione and Lily forgave him so utterly, so lovingly, and with such ferocious power, that it sent the first crack rifling through the shell of the Horcrux Seal. And with it came a wretched scream…Tom Riddle's soul was rearing from the attack.

"Ennie…how many planes are left?" asked Hermione, as the powerful waves of magic continued to heave around them.

"Well, his physical pain one is gone, and so has his calm plane," said Enola. "I don't understand how…I've not helped him to close them."

Lily smiled at her. "It's simple really, girls. The Elixir of Life has cured all Harry's lingering physical wounds, and that concoction you made to heal his scar has taken the pain from that."

"And his calm plane?" asked Hermione.

Lily took her hand. "Why would Harry need a calm plane anymore? He's happiest when he's awake and in your arms, Hermione. The calm plane closed because it had become redundant. You've replaced _calm_ with living _bliss_."

Hermione felt her heart pound hard at that and she hitched a silly grin onto her face. Lily just smiled fondly at her.

"So that just leaves the Weasley connection he took from me…and his Dark Plane."

"Give the Weasleys to us," said a deep, familiar voice as three newcomers stepped through the Veil. "We owe those filthy traitors!"

"Sirius!" Hermione yelled in joy, sprinting over and diving onto him in a hug. Then she stepped back in bewilderment. "I can _touch_ you!"

"You didn't notice that with _me_!" Lily commented with a little wink.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione blushed. "But…how?"

"Harry will explain," said Sirius. "Just know that you _can_...in here and downstairs, if my Godson ever shows it to you."

Speaking of godparents…

"Remus! Nymphadora!"

"Wotcher! _Mrs Potter!" _Remus' wife smirked, from behind Sirius. "Oh, Mrs Potter _the Younger_, I meant."

"Now I know you aren't calling me _old_, Nymph," Lily smirked. "How do our ages compare on _Wii Sports_ again?"

Nymph frowned. "It's just the baseball…I can't get my swing right…"

"Guys…about Teddy...we're so sorry," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. "There was nothing we could have done…"

"Hermione, calm yourself," said Remus. "We know…we saw everything. We tried to push Luna's little girl clear and drag Teddy to us. Don't fret. We have him with us now."

"Will he be okay?" asked Hermione.

"In time, he will be," said Nymph. "That's the good thing about the afterlife…there's always plenty of _time_."

"I just hope Harry can accept that," said Hermione, sadly.

"After tonight, he will," said Remus.

Sirius moved to Hermione and took her shoulders. "Look at you…so strong and so beautiful. You always were the brightest witch of the age…but I think you may turn out to be the brightest witch of _any _age. We are so proud of you…and you are so welcome in our family."

"Thank you!" Hermione beamed. "How will you take care of the Weasleys? I really don't know if you can…the connection…"

"Is a family matter," said a new voice.

"Or a matter for family, wouldn't you say," said another

"I thought you said."

"I did. Once."

"Or twice."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. Only one ear, see."

Fred and George Weasley stood in the frame of the Archway, half translucent as they straddled the two worlds. Hermione beamed over at them, the only Weasley's she could tolerate.

"So, Harry's finally made an honest woman out of you, Hermione?" Fred quirked.

"Well, I don't know about _honest_…"George teased.

"Either way, George, you owe me twenty Galleons," said Fred.

Hermione huffed. "Don't tell me _you_ had a bet on me and Harry, too?"

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Hermione, dear, even us dead folk had bets on _that_. Which reminds me…where _is_ James? He still hasn't paid up."

Hermione shook her head. Then she frowned. "Why are you standing in the Arch? If you can help, we need you in here."

"'Fraid not, Mrs P," said Fred

"Harry's banned the family, see," George explained. "We will cease to exist if we enter that space. No Weasley's allowed."

"Unless its Ron. To be deservingly tortured."

"It's our new favourite spectator sport," George added.

"Though we did write the book on it, if you ever run out of ideas."

"It's a good job the twins have turned up," said Sirius, turning to Hermione. "For while your idea has proved solid so far, if you try and channel the Weasleys to the Horcrux it might actually strengthen it…or make Ron a new Protector."

"Just give it us," said Fred.

"Yeah," George added. "We know how to take care of the rest."

Enola nodded, pulled the Weasley plane from Harry's mind, sent it shooting around with the magic wave that was circling the room and Fred leapt up and caught it like a Frisbee. George jumped on top of it and Fred dragged him back to the afterlife, taking the Weasley curse with them.

"I hope they'll be okay," said Hermione, looking pensive.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Lily. "Merlin himself is on the other side. He'll help the twins if they need it. Right…one last plane."

"Lady Longbottom," said Sirius, sweeping over to her. "Try and pull some of Harry's individual demons one by one. Let's pummel this Horcrux to oblivion."

"Start with us," said Remus. "It will be Harry's freshest piece of self-hate."

Enola nodded. She touched her wand to Harry's temple, then yanked it away hard. A vision of Teddy Lupin shot out, and Remus tensed and clutched at Nymphadora. Teddy ignored them and raced to the Horcrux…turning to a child-werewolf as he did so.

"Oh…_fuck_!" Hermione yelped, as Teddy slashed and bit at the trembling Seal. Hermione turned to Lily. "Harry can't be hurt by that, can he? And by hurt I mean _turned_?"

"No," said Remus. "Harry will feel the physical wounds, but he wont be infected."

"Come on, Remus, lets take our little boy home…he's been _very_ naughty!"

Teddy looked up at the admonishment, and he soon found himself being manhandled by his spectral parents as they dragged him kicking and screaming through the Veil.

"I'll take mine next," said Sirius. He looked warmly to Hermione. "Look after my Godson. Bed him well, Mrs Potter, bed him well."

"I will," Hermione smiled with a flush.

Then she watched in amazement as a Sirius Black Doppleganger strode from Harry's mind, became a Grim to assault the Horcrux - which let out another high-pitched, blood curdling screech - then became a wizard again and faced his facsimile. Hermione burst out laughing, as both Sirius's seemed so enamoured to see the other that they simply linked arms and walked through the Veil, as if lovers strolling though a meadow.

There was a laugh, and Hermione went wide-eyed in shock.

For James Potter had just come through as Sirius departed. "Really, that man is the vainest wizard I've ever met!"

"I think you run him a close second, dear," Lily quipped.

"Well, I can't win at everything," James smirked. "Hello, Hermione. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Mr Potter," said Hermione with a little curtsey. "Wow…Harry really _does _look like you!"

James chortled at that. "Even more so now he has a whole face again. We have so much to thank you for, Hermione."

"We really do," Lily beamed. "I don't know if we'll ever have time to tell you how much."

"And what about my thanks to _you?_" said Hermione fairly. "You sent Harry back when he was attacked in the Forbidden Forest. You sent him back f-for…for _me_. You've given me my wildest dream, my best future, made me the happiest witch in the world. I think that makes us even."

"And when you give us our grandchildren you will surpass us!" James laughed.

"And when will that be, exactly?" Hermione asked cheekily.

"We can't give you exact dates," said Lily. "That isn't how it works."

"But let's just say you and Lady Longbottom, here, will be shopping for baby clothes together," said James.

"Oh, _Min!_" Enola cried happily. "Did you hear that! We're going to have babies at the same time!"

Hermione felt hit by a thunderbolt at the news. She shook a little as she processed it. This time next year, she would have a child…she would be a Mum…to Harry's baby…she and Harry would have changed names to _Mummy and Daddy_…

And, in that moment, it was just the most joyous concept she had ever formed in her whole life.

"When those images go through the Veil…what happens to them?" asked Hermione.

"The memories we keep alive are actually tiny fragments of that soul's energy," said Lily.

"It's what keeps that person _alive_ within our hearts," James added. "They've made a lasting, physical impact on us."

"It gives us that feeling that they aren't really gone," said Lily. "Because, they _really_ aren't…as long as their energy lives on inside us."

"So we are just returning those fragments of energy to their rightful owners," said James. "Sirius, for example, would have walked through with his twin, but emerged as one on the other side. He wouldn't have even noticed that piece of energy had returned to him. But he _would_ have been energised to see you."

"As we all are," Lily smiled.

"Right." said Hermione happily, flushing crimson again. "Let's finish this."

"Okay," said James. "Now, Harry's psychological damage over our murder is the most potent thing on that plane. It's defined his life."

"So when it's released, it's going to explode at the Horcrux, and shatter the shell completely," said Lily.

"Then we'll take the remnants, and you'll be left to deal with the Soul Anchor."

"Grindelwald," said Hermione, darkly.

"Yes," said Lily. "And don't expect Gellert to come quietly. He was forced in there fighting against Riddle, even with no wand. He'll be primed when he comes out. Be ready."

"He will likely try to latch onto one of you," said James. "Neville…you'll have the best shot at defeating him. Gryffindor's strength runs through you. That Sword answers to you for good reason."

"If I stab him with it, will he die?" asked Neville.

Lily nodded. "Gryffindor's noble spirit imbibes all objects he possessed. Not like a Horcrux, but like a residue of his goodness. And nowhere is it more concentrated than in the Sword."

"If it interacts with Gellert, that inherent power will take care of the rest," said James. "But beware…Gellert Grindelwald had the greatest mastery of wandless magic the world has ever known. Don't take his threat lightly."

"We wont," said Hermione. She took the hands of her parents-in-law. "Thank you. From all of us. Please…tell my parents I love them very much…and that I'm so, _so_ sorry. For everything."

"They know," said Lily, smiling kindly.

"They asked us to pass on their love to you," James added. "Hang in there, Hermione. Your parents are proud of you, proud to have Harry as a son-in-law -"

"Though to be fair we did threaten to hex them if they didn't say that," Lily teased.

"And as soon as they are strong enough, they'll come to see you."

"The damage…" Hermione asked cautiously, her voice wobbling with nerves. "…that Riddle and Ginny did…"

"Is not permanent and they'll make a complete spiritual recovery," Lily smiled, before dragging Hermione, who had burst out sobbing with the relief, into a deep embrace.

"T-thank you," Hermione sniffed. "I'll take the best care of Harry that I can, I promise."

"We know you will," said James. "You are the only one we'd trust to do that properly.

"Just don't put up with that sassy mouth of his for a day more than you can stand," Lily quirked. "It's a failing of the Potter men unfortunately. But it's nothing a few well-aimed jinxes to the crotch wont fix!"

Lily and James kissed a cheek of Hermione's each, then nodded at Enola, who pulled their embodiment from Harry's deeply wounded mind. It shot out like a wild dart, smashing into the Seal, which fractured with an explosion of light. Hermione didn't see Lily and James leave, but somehow felt them go all the same. The next thing she felt was a firm punch to her chest, as she was knocked flying and toppled over the altar, dragging Harry's body to safety with her.

She looked up, to see the smoky, ghost-like figure of Grindelwald stand and stretch. Even as a spirit, Hermione could feel the sheer awesomeness of his magic. It rolled off him like a lava flow, feral and unstoppable. He flicked a careless hand at Enola, who was sent spinning into the wall, where she crumpled and groaned and tried to nurse a very sore head.

Neville darted forward with a curse, swinging the Sword of Gryffindor as he went. But Grindelwald smashed him away, too. Hermione frowned. If the Sword of Gryffindor could kill Grindelwald then great…but how in the flying fuck were they supposed to get to him?

Then the answer came.

"Hello, Gellert."

Grindelwald froze, then turned like he was on a pivot.

"Albus?"

Dumbledore strode from the Veil without a care in the world and stopped in front of the legendary German sorcerer.

"Yes, Gellert, it is I," said Dumbledore. "Surprised to see me?"

"You died, I heard about it," said Grindelwald, with genuine concern for his old friend.

"So did you, murdered by Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore simply.

"No, never," Grindelwald spat. "That circus conjurer would never have bested _me_."

"Perhaps in your prime, no," Dumbledore agreed. "But, after over fifty years of captivity you were, shall we say…_rusty._"

Grindelwald laughed. It was a wild, rumbling sound. Hermione remembered it from Rita Skeeter's damning book on Dumbledore. It seemed so long ago, it might have been in a different universe.

"Then, where am I?" Grindelwald asked, genuinely curious.

"You are at the home of Harry Potter, Heir of Merlin," said Dumbledore. "He is right over there, quite asleep at the moment, and this is his wife, Hermione."

Dumbledore regarded Hermione with a good degree of caution, for she was looking as if she wanted to rip his throat out.

"Mrs Potter has every reason in the world to be angry at me, and some more besides that," said Dumbledore, sadly. "I am not foolish enough to seek redemption from the Potters. My blindness, my mistakes, are unforgivable. I cannot make amends, but I can still do what I should have done in life…and help to defeat Tom Riddle for good. Gellert…I could use your help."

"I thought we had agreed to be enemies, Albus," said Grindelwald, smoothly. "We shook on it in 1939. Why should I help you now?"

"I wasn't _asking_, Gellert," said Dumbledore, gently. "I beat you in _1945_ when you had the Elder Wand and should have been unbeatable. And I went _easy_ on you. You were my best friend…I didn't want to hurt you. It was that sentiment which saved your life."

Even as a ghost, Grindelwald paled at the firm fury masked by Dumbledore's soft words. He sagged as he conceded.

"Very well, Albus. What should I do?"

"You should tell Mrs Potter which part of Tom Riddle you represent…the part that will be weakened by the destruction of this Horcrux," said Dumbledore. "That will help her and Harry strategise for the final assault. Then you will accompany me to the next world, join me for a game of Buck-a-roo, and hope that between my brother and sister we may all find some peace at last."

Grindelwald smiled. He liked the idea, that was obvious. But Hermione frowned.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, out of habit. Then she swore at herself. This was _her house_, for Merlin's sake. "Albus…what do you mean…the part the Horcrux _represents?_"

Dumbledore eyed her over his half-moon spectacles. "Each Horcrux took a piece of Tom Riddle with it," he explained. "The Locket took his eyes, the snake made him into the lizard hybrid he became - as he merely swapped his soul for snake-like attributes with Nagini. This final Horcrux will also contain an element of him. Which is, Gellert?"

Grindelwald smiled wickedly. "This, my dear Albus, is the link to his _magic_."

Hermione gasped in triumphant surprise.

_"What_?" Enola breathed.

"His magic…my word, you're a pretty frauline, aren't you?" said Grindelwald silkily. "Forgive me for hurting you."

Neville growled at him. "We'll forgive you, if you help us. If not, we'll send your soul to Hell on a silver platter with a Hallmark card for Satan, himself. Now…explain what you just said."

"This vessel was draining me," said Grindelwald, eyeing the Horcrux bitterly. "I could feel it sapping my energy. That was blatant to me just then, for I should have killed you with the magic I cast. But I have been diminished. My natural power has been feeding Voldemort. But now, I can cause a feedback in it…overload him…draw his power to _me_. I cannot use it…but I can take it from him."

"You can…take his _magic_?" asked Hermione. "Make him a Squib?"

"And a very much mortal, _murderable_ Squib," said Dumbledore, his ice-blue eyes glittering darkly. "Come along, Gellert. Let's make amends for our earthly mistakes."

Grindelwald nodded. He reached into the Horcrux and pulled out a horribly deformed…_thing._ Hermione couldn't look at it. It might have been a baby, or a creature of some kind, its skin flayed and sore, and the noises it was making…horrific and pitiful, cutting right to the heart of everything good in the world. It was uncomfortable viewing.

"We all make mistakes, Mrs Potter," said Grindelwald, throwing a poignant glance at Dumbledore. "Some greater than others. But if we are not prepared to forgive those who repent with honesty, with sincere remorse, are we really any better than those who trespass against us?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes into a vicious frown. "And what about our enemies who do not repent?"

Grindelwald smirked. "Then cast them into the flames of Perdition…and piss acid onto their flaming carcasses."

Hermione grinned. "I like that way better."

Grindelwald turned and took the little _thing_ to the Veil. Dumbledore lingered, Hermione folded her arms crossly and dared him to make the plea she could see in his eyes. He sighed, stayed silent and steered Grindelwald into the next world, as the lost Horcrux melted behind them.


	21. Circles in Time

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

It was an odd sort of party.

Harry thought he shouldn't have been surprised by that. After all, how many parties were held in the Chamber of Secrets, had doors of fire that required potions to pass through safely, and were attended almost entirely by people who were supposed to be dead?

And it wasn't just the people who were dead. Harry had been brought his invitation by Hedwig, who seemed very cross to have been hit by an Avada Kedavra and barked to Harry all about it, as he fed her owl treats from Dumbledore's Pensieve. And Dobby was at the party too, handing out canapés whilst wearing an odd assortment of bobble hats converted to every item of clothing he had on.

Dobby was serving Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, who were playing scrabble and laughing at the rude words they kept forming. Sirius was trying to insist that '_pee-pee'_ should get double points, as it was a double word, but Lily wasn't having any of that nonsense as it hadn't fallen on a Double Points square…

Harry shook his head and moved away. Just then, a door opened in the mouth of the basilisk, who was sat quite docile at one end of the chamber. Hermione came out of it wheeling a trolley and hurried over to the party.

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" she exclaimed. "I thought you'd forgotten the password or something. _Hiss and Flick_, in Parseltongue, obviously."

Harry tried to explain that he _couldn't_ flick, as he didn't have a tail, but then his eyes fell onto the trolley that Hermione was wheeling. There was a large cake on it. A cake shaped like _him_. There were Oreo disks for his glasses and red-rope liquorice for his scar. It was _very_ lifelike. Hermione took up the knife on the cake platter. He recognised it - Peter Pettigrew had used it to take his blood when he resurrected Tom Riddle. Harry wondered how Hermione had gotten hold of it, but then she began cutting into his cake-arm.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped. He felt the pain cut his _actual_ flesh, and felt the trickle of blood ooze down across his skin. Then he screeched out…as Hermione began to _eat _the slice she'd cut.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Hermione asked. "You're very tasty. You should try a bit."

She offered him the knife, which Harry took just so she couldn't cut him again.

"Hermione…why are you _eating_ me?"

"Well, I didn't _want_ to, really," Hermione explained sweetly. "But then I knew I had to, if I wanted to learn ritual magic for you. Have you done this ritual before? I do hope I've gotten it right. You'll be so proud of me. I'm not sure I'd have managed eating the _real_ you, so I baked your essence into a cake, and did some Dark Magic, to make it sort of a _voodoo doll cake_. I used your ritual circle for it. I hope you don't mind. I probably ruined it though. Are you sure you wont have some cake? It has mint frosting and is really quite good."

"Dark Magic? Cannibalism?" Harry asked, his stomach churning. "Hermione…what ritual _are_ you doing?"

"Why…I'm creating a Horcrux, obviously," she said simply. "I've collected all of Voldemort's to see how he did it."

She motioned to a table nearby. Harry looked over, horrified, at a long conveyor of items: a cracked ring, a diary with a hole in it, a broken locket, a melted cup, a twisted diadem and the shed skin of a giant snake. It was like some nightmare version of the Generation Game. Harry wondered idly where the cuddly toy was.

"And I have to partake of the flesh of my sacrificial victim to imbibe myself with their power," Hermione went on. "And cake will _surely_ taste nicer than the flesh of my sacrifice. Speaking of which…forgive me for this, love…it wont hurt…it'll be as easy as falling asleep..."

Harry looked up in terror as Hermione's eyes became slit-like, her wand snapped into her hand and aimed right at him…there was a flash of green, which hit him right in the face like a bolt of white-hot lightening. Harry felt his skin split open, heard the sinew rip apart as it was torn like a rag, and he gave a piercing shriek as he hit the sodden leaves of the Forest floor…

And Harry woke with a panicked start. His breath heaved in shallow spurts, his heartbeat rushing loud in his ears. He looked over at Hermione, still sleeping soundly next to him, no wand and no snake-eyes, and he allowed himself to still. It was just a nightmare. He fell back against his pillows, brushing sweat from his face. His face…it was still whole. At least, it _felt_ that way. But still, Hermione's curse had felt so real.

Harry slipped from bed and headed into the alchemy cell. He quietly poured cold water into his china basin and splashed his heated cheeks. His reflection leered back at him, pale and startled, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him. He touched his face cautiously, as though it were a mask that might slip at any time.

Harry hadn't really analysed it, in the whirlwind of events of the past few weeks. Killing Ginny, torturing Ron, blowing up half of Diagon Alley…his own healing had somehow got lost in the shuffle. He ran his hands over his skin now, in the dark of the silent night. It was smooth, softer than he remembered. There was even a trace of stubble starting to spring up there. He found this the most surprising thing of all. And it was jarring.

This was all too _normal_.

Harry supposed that this was why he'd had a nightmare. It was his psyche's way of telling him this was far from over. How dare he relax and enjoy weddings and talk of babies? They were still at war, and it was a conflict which was still yet to be won, despite the slew of little victories they'd enjoyed. Harry had forgotten that, allowed himself to get caught up in the beautiful ideas of his future with the return of his beautiful face. When, in fact, what the world needed was for him to be ugly.

Well, it wasn't the scar that had made him _that_. It was his life, his catalogue of macabre experiences. He could remember them now without them crippling him. They were stirring, angering. His mind planes had kept them from overwhelming his conscious mind, but the ritual to destroy the Horcrux had taken care of that. But there was good and bad with the procedure.

Ultimately, it would all turn out to be well, Harry was confident of that. But he knew equally well that there would be an adjustment period that would be difficult to get through. Hermione had healed him of his wounds, but the scars would only fade over time. And there was no elixir that could speed up that process. He had been fixed, forgiven and lightened of his guilt by all those he carried it for. Whereas once these memories had sat in the back of his mind, like remnants of dreams he couldn't quite remember, now they were all there, smouldering like once fiery infernos, doused by the love and forgiveness of those he cared for the most.

Harry looked in the mirror as he thought that. His heart tracked up to lodge in his throat and he took a moment to consider things. He had been forgiven, he was so loved that all the horrors he carried blame and misery for had been taken from him. When had he earned _that_? They were allowing him to forgive himself, and it would be the ultimate disservice to their sacrifices if he denied them.

He just wasn't finding it that easy. Harry had simply become so used to barriers, to being on the defensive in every sense. He could hide his hurt in his mind planes, heal his wounds in his secret cell. He even missed his scarves and shawls in a odd sort of way. They had become like a security blanket. He felt naked without them…and more vulnerable than he had in years. He sighed at that.

And then a pair of warm arms slipped around his middle.

"Bad dreams?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry huffed. "I didn't think you'd noticed."

"I didn't, to be truthful," said Hermione. "But I woke and rolled over for a cuddle, and you weren't there. I suppose I've just gotten used to sharing my bed space with you."

Harry smiled and turned, drawing Hermione to him. He just held her a moment, let the warmth of her body drive away the last niggles of his memory of the Forbidden Forest floor. "I like that, too. Snuggling in the dark, I mean."

"So why aren't we cwtched up now then?"

Harry sighed. "Like you said. Bad dreams."

"I'm supposed to have taken all those away from you," said Hermione crossly. "I thought you said the ritual worked."

"It did," said Harry, leading Hermione back through to the bedroom. "Doesn't mean I can't still have nightmares, you know, like a _normal_ person. I'll just have to stop eating cheese before bed…that causes bad dreams I've been told."

"Bad breath, maybe," Hermione pondered, sliding back onto the bed. "Not so sure about dreams, though. Come here…come to me, and tell me what's troubling you."

She sat against the headboard and opened her arms and legs. Harry slid up between them, his back against her chest, so that Hermione was practically cocooning him when she wrapped him up with both sets of limbs, with his head just below her chin. She began to massage his scalp with her fingertips and Harry sighed in contentment. He loved it when she did this.

"Mmmm," he purred. "Could you adjust my eyebrows, please?"

Hermione obliged with a soft little laugh. "It's a good job I find grooming you a _particularly_ sensual activity. I feel like a little slave right now."

"Yes, but you're _my_ slave -"

"I know, I know," Hermione cut in. "And there's value in that."

"Just so long as we agree," Harry quipped.

"So…what's wrong?"

"It's not _wrong_ as such," said Harry. "It's just…different."

"Good different or bad different?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not really sure," said Harry. "I was having a weird dream. You were making a Horcrux out of me."

Hermione stiffened. "I was…what?"

"You were eating a cake you'd made of me as part of the Horcrux ritual, and it was hurting me like a voodoo doll."

Hermione giggled lightly. "I bet you tasted yummy, though."

"Hey, I'm supposed to be traumatised by the dream down here," Harry protested playfully. "I did have mint frosting, mind."

"Ooh, I _love_ mint frosting!" said Hermione eagerly.

"I know. It was on the cake Rhian made for us yesterday. That must have been why I was dreaming of it."

"And everything else is still on your mind, obviously," said Hermione, nodding. "But it was _just_ a dream, Harry. We both know I can't bake for shit!"

"Yeah…I think, if I'm ever asked to pick a last meal on Death Row, I might ask for one of those Welsh Cakes you made…I think I'd be too scared to try one before then!"

"Fuck you, Harry," said Hermione, clipping his ear. He just laughed at her. "But, I don't understand…why has that dream freaked you out so much?"

"Well, it's like you said, it was _just_ a dream," Harry explained. "I…I haven't had one for a while. Not like that. It was a condition of my mind planes. I used to always go to them when I slept. Other kinds of dreams couldn't get through."

Hermione inhaled sharply. "So…when was your last _normal_ dream?"

"At a guess…I'd have to say I haven't had a dream like that for…well, about _four years_."

"Oh, Sweet Merlin, _Harry!"_ Hermione moaned. "And you've been struggling in that battered mind of yours every single night for all that time?"

Harry nodded. "Please don't run away. I told you I was fragile. I suppose it's just…I don't know, shaken me up a bit. It's silly, I know."

Hermione hugged her legs around him like a vice. They were deliciously bare, pale against the sliver of moonlight from the window. "I'm not going anywhere. _Run away_…pfft. I took you with all your baggage, and offered you mine in return. We're both in this for the long haul, sweetheart."

Harry sucked in a breath at her words. He bit down on his lip. "That's the other thing…the real reason I'm probably going to keep having nightmares."

"What is?"

Harry suddenly changed his mind about his confession. He'd said enough for one night. "Forget it, it's stupid. I'll get over it."

"Tell me, or this head massage ends right now," Hermione warned.

"Merlin, you're such a cruel boss," said Harry. He sighed again in resignation. "Well, it's just…I don't know…about the future."

"What about it?"

"I never really _expected _one," said Harry. "Especially not this one - my literal dream come true. I hoped, obviously. But when my mum sent me back for you, I didn't have any idea how that would happen. You were married - happily, I assumed - to Ron. When I learned that you _weren't_, my plan changed to make myself strong enough to protect you. It wasn't for the world, or the war, or any of that crap.

"It was all just for _you_."

Harry felt Hermione smile into his hair, as she kissed the crown of his head. "And now you've got me. I hope you're not trying to say I'm a disappointment or that you're having second thoughts!"

Harry chuckled at her jokey tone. "I'm not even going to justify that comment with a suitably cutting retort. You're beyond all that I could have imagined, as you very well know."

Harry pulled up one of Hermione's knees to kiss as an indicator of his sincerity.

"I'm glad you think so," Hermione quirked. "So what's the problem? You've rescued me, our future is going to be amazing, and anyone who tries to stand in the way of that wont live long enough to be an issue."

Harry hugged Hermione's thighs, still clutching tight around his waist. "That's kind of my point. My life - my _whole_ life - has been defined by this bloody prophecy and the misinterpretations of it. But now, the only part that matters - that I can vanquish the Dark Lord - is on the horizon."

Hermione curled her legs tighter still. "I see. So you're worried about what happens _after_? Once your destiny is fulfilled. With so much of your life still to go."

"Something like that."

"That's why you weren't that bothered about Riddle's poison slowly killing you," Hermione huffed. "It was another definite for you. Something you had a measure of control over."

"Pretty much," Harry agreed. "I know I can kill Riddle, and I knew that the poison would kill me in however many years it took. But now…I don't know what to think. I always hoped for a long future with you, but now I've got it I…I don't know what to do with it. I want more than anything to be good enough for you, but if I'm not killing our enemies and saving the world, I'm not sure I know how to do that.

"I…I'm scared…terrified, actually, that I won't know how to be a good husband to you once this darkness has passed."

Hermione threaded her arms around Harry and drew him so close she might have been trying to fuse them as one.

"You listen to me, Harry Potter," said Hermione gently. "I made a promise to myself to _never_ let you be afraid of anything ever again. You've carried so much fear and negativity around with you for way too long. I wont stand for you doing it any more. _Especially_ not for anything to do with me! I know the idea of our new future can be a bit scary at times. Merlin, the thought of _creating_ life is far more terrifying than _taking_ life ever was! But, the difference is, we're in this together. Neither of us are alone anymore. I can't wait to butcher Ron and watch you slaughter Riddle, but the game doesn't end there."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry - the magical world has been under a dark tyranny for five years," said Hermione. "Undoing that could take the next fifty. We'll have plenty to keep us occupied. Besides, I intend our purge to be more complete than the last one. I say, right here and now, we agree to not let _any_ Death Eater escape the justice of our wands. No show trials…no Azkaban…just extermination. For witch, wizard and creature alike. To be a blood enemy of the House of Potter is to be considered a death sentence. I want those fuckers to be counting the days till we hunt them down, and shitting themselves with the fear of it."

"Seriously? That's what you want to do?" asked Harry, his voice quiet in awed reverence. "Become Dark Wizard catchers?"

"No, not _catchers,_" Hermione corrected. "Dark Wizard _hunters_. One section of Britain at a time. We'll cleanse our own country first, then move to England and Scotland. We'll go up and down…and if we see a Dark Mark, we kill the wizard wearing it!"

Harry nodded his approval and brought Hermione's hand up to his lips, using his kiss as a seal of their oath. Suddenly, the future wasn't so bleak after all.

* * *

"So…what _do_ we know?"

Neville was pacing the room, a piece of parchment trailing behind him. All the answers he wanted were on it, but he just couldn't be bothered reading. Hermione scowled at him. Any chance at reading was a blessing from the Gods, in her eyes, so for Neville to so blatantly channel Ron Weasley's spirit in this way didn't sit well with her at all. And when she told him, he just pouted crossly, while Harry laughed in the seat next to her.

"What we know, Lady Potter," said Lord Angus Kelvin. "Is that Tom Riddle has gathered all his strength to him. And witches and wizards are just the tip of the iceberg. All his Dementors, giants, trolls…even any dragons his riders have managed to subjugate. He has called them all to his banner, to prepare for the final assault he must know is coming."

"Or to prepare to _launch_ an attack," Neville pointed out evenly. "Dragons…really?

Harry swore loudly as Neville paled slightly. To subjugate a dragon meant to clip its wings at the shoulder joint, so it couldn't fly out of range of a wand. It was frowned upon in civilised magical society, right up there with slaying a unicorn for its blood. Right in Tom Riddle's repertoire. Harry couldn't wait to bring that abominable twat to heel.

"The effect," Lord Angus went on, "is that there has been the creation of a no-access zone, three miles in radius, around Hogwarts. We wont get in there without an army, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Hardly unexpected. What are our options?"

"There's always the Muggle army in France," Owain Glyndwr Jones offered, quietly. Harry gave him a pointed stare. "Well…it's better than _nothing_."

"We've not needed an army before," Neville pointed out.

"True, but we've not had an army to _fight_ before, either," Patrick O'Brien chipped in. "Harry - what about your friends abroad? The Yanks and the Africans? You said they pledged support for when the time was right. Seems pretty right now."

Harry considered that a minute. Then he shook his head. "They said they'd help, but not an army. Besides, I'd rather keep the wards closed. Riddle isn't short of supporters, especially in Eastern Europe and the Balkans. At least if we can keep him in Britain we'll know where he is."

"Guerilla warfare has worked well so far," said Hermione. "All we need is to just get close enough for a clear shot at Riddle. Then it's over."

"I don't think it's anything like that simple," Harry disagreed. "Riddle is at the tip of this, but we need to make a clean kill sweep of his top brass. Many of his Death Eaters are just as evil as he, don't forget. We have to get them all."

"And even that might not be enough," said Frank Longbottom, who had just entered with Sir David Pincott. "We have some disturbing news."

"That makes a change, Dad," Neville quirked. "What is it now?"

"Sir David can explain better," said Frank. "He's just come from London."

"Where things have taken a most unexpected turn," said Sir David.

"Unexpected how?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Well, in the wake of Queen Elizabeth's murder, the country has been, essentially, locked down, as they decide how to respond," said Sir David. "And…now they've decided."

"I don't like riddles," Harry huffed. "As we all know. Spit it out, Sir David."

"There has been a conclusion to the longest emergency session of COBRA - that's the security briefing council of the British Government to you and I - in recorded history," Sir David explained. "They have decided to come out into the open about the presence of magicals in the UK. They have declared that the murder of Elizabeth was a _'false-flag'_ operation, carried out by rogue elements of Wizard Government…to provoke a war between Muggle and Magic. They say that the wizard in the Youtube video, who used the _alias_ of Lord Voldemort, is actually called…_Harry Potter_."

"What!" Harry thundered.

"That's a huge violation of the International Statute of Secrecy!" Hermione cried.

"Yes," Sir David agreed. "Probably the biggest since the Witch Trials and the Inquisition. But it's_ so_ big - enacted by an actual _Government_ and not an individual - that it's next to impossible for the ICW to contain it. The entire internet has crashed seven times in the last three hours since this news broke."

"And it gets worse," Frank warned.

Sir David nodded in grave concurrence. "In order to promote a spirit of co-operation between the two worlds, to fight the _rogue element_ \- i.e, _us -_ the Muggles have appointment an interim _Civil Disorder_ Prime Minister…from the _magical_ world…one who has suffered terrible losses himself…to restore order to the country. A wizard who has been masquerading as a Muggle and heading up MI5 - a sort of Muggle Auror Corps. A wizard, furthermore, who's wife and son have been killed by the magical terrorist's leader."

"That would be _you_, Harry," Frank clarified with a grin.

"Or…his _wife," _Sir David added, inclining his head to Hermione.

Harry growled lowly. "And who the fuck might _that_ be?"

"That, Sir, would be one Lucius Malfoy."

Harry swore so loudly the furniture shook, even with the occupants still sat in them. He fumed and raged where he was, and it took Hermione fully five minutes of massaging his heart, with the most soothing touch in her repertoire, to eventually calm him.

"So…Lucius Malfoy is leading the Muggle world in Britain?" Hermione spat. "Is that what you're saying."

"Word for word, my Lady," Sir David confirmed.

Hermione huffed. "Well, _that_ complicates things."

"We should have seen that coming," Harry snarled. "We've all but taken magical Britain back from Riddle…subjugating the Muggles to his will is all he had left. And we knew he'd infiltrated the Government. Now there are literally _millions_ of new enemies to contend with. I assume they've declared me a traitor and public enemy number one?"

"And numbers two and three to boot," said Frank. "Your face is all over the media, as well as anyone known to be associated with you."

"And they've put a sweet little bounty on your head," said Sir David. "There are ten million golden reasons for someone to turn you in now."

"Oh for _fucks sake_!" Harry cursed. Hermione tried to shush him gently.

"There has been a response in the magical world to these events, though," said Sir David.

"Go on," Hermione implored.

"All those who have been silenced by Riddle are now stirred by confirmation that you are alive and fighting," Sir David explained. "There are whispers on the underground networks of resistance cells and rebellion rallies. We have reason to believe that our exiles in other countries are preparing to mobilise in Dublin."

"That's great news!" Hermione exclaimed. Then her face dropped as she clocked Harry's dark expression. "Isn't it, Harry?"

"No, I don't think it is at all," said Harry, seriously. "It's playing right into Riddle's hands. If the magicals start to rebel en masse, he's just going to point the finger right at me, for rabble rousing. There will be reprisals…Muggles will start _hunting_ Magicals. The pack mentality of hooligans is a dangerous thing. And…if the magicals all gather in one place to meet or rally…"

Hermione gasped sharply as understanding struck. "The Muggles will have a single target to attack...with multiple casualties!"

"Exactly," said Harry. "And I rather think Lucius Malfoy would have no problem dropping a nuke on an unsuspecting number of magical enemies. He'd promise to clean it all up with magic so they'd give him permission to do it."

Neville paled further. "We have to stop that…but where would they go?"

"I think we have to assume that any place with a strong connection to Harry would be a rallying point," said Frank.

"I agree," said Hermione, sitting to face Harry now he wasn't about to blow up the palace. "I used to hold my own Deathday Parties for you, but there were larger gatherings…particularly at your shrine in Godric's Hollow."

"Fucking _shrine_!" Harry spat. "Please don't call it that."

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled meekly.

"Yeah, I snuck into one of those once," said Neville, taking over. "I was just doing some Death Eater tracking and I was led straight there. They knew about the gatherings, encouraged them even."

Hermione nodded. "They saw it as a chance to celebrate, when the rest of us simply mourned your passing." She placed a grip on Harry's thigh as his anger rose again, but it was as much to offset her grief-laden remorse as to calm him. "We have to assume any rebels would use it as a rallying point."

"That makes sense," said Harry. He stood up. "I'm going to go to Godric's Hollow. Right now. Hermione…do you fancy an outing?"

"What for?"

"I'm going to destroy that pissing monument they erected to my death, before the Death Eaters or the Muggles can kill more people at it," Harry explained. "Then I'm going to practice my Fidelius Charm skills. I rather thought you'd make an excellent choice to keep my secrets."

Hermione gasped. "You're going to create a new Fidelius Ward around the house?"

"No…around the whole _village,"_ said Harry. "A lot of magicals live there already. We have to protect them if we can. Come on, I need you."

"And what shall we do whilst you're gone?" asked Neville.

Harry thought a moment. "Well, what we need right now is some good PR, or some cracking propaganda. Talk to Luna. We might need her expertise on this."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him. "Since when is Luna an expert on propaganda?"

"She isn't," said Harry. "But her father did once run the widest reaching alternative media source in the magical world. It's not much…but for now it's the best we can do."

* * *

Harry and Hermione apparated together to Godric's Hollow, taking each others hand as they strolled through the village. It was largely deserted at the early evening hour, but the quietness put Harry on alert as they made their way along the narrow lane. The cottages on either side were alarmingly still, as though the whole place was under curfew.

Then Harry saw why. He pulled Hermione to a stop, just as they rounded the bend and faced onto the village square.

"What is it?" she breathed quietly, her voice betraying her own battle readiness.

"Look," said Harry. He pointed to a tall pole nearby, on top of which a small camera was rotating.

"CCTV. The Muggles have mobilised fast," Hermione spat. "We can assume the whole village is under their surveillance. Probably got satellites trained on us as we speak."

"Hmm," said Harry. He drew his wand. "I wonder…_Lumos Locomotor_!"

A ball of brilliant white light shot from the tip of Harry's wand, sailed through the air a moment, then a spell beam - orange in colour - suddenly shot from a point in the darkness and connected with it. Hermione flicked her own wand into her hand.

"Relax," said Harry, easing her arm down. "That's just a tracking spell. Probably from a static gem."

"How are we going to get through?" asked Hermione, squinting hard for the source of the spell.

"I don't think we have the luxury of subtlety," said Harry. "We have to know what we're dealing with."

Harry flicked his wand again. A phoenix, made entirely of fire, shot out and flew around the square at incredible speed. As it passed certain points, objects began to glow and more tracking spells shot out, but the phoenix swooped and dived to avoid them. It eventually landed on top of the CCTV camera, which promptly melted under the heat.

"I count four tracking gems," said Hermione. Harry nodded in agreement. "What now?"

"We need to reduce the tracking field," said Harry. "No offence, but I need you to let me take care of this. I'm going to have to grab those tracking gems before they can hit us. Wait here."

Then Harry darted out. He Apparated from space to space, dodging the tracking spells. With each movement, he physically pushed the gems towards the monument at the centre of the square. They were carrying hovering charms, so he simply pushed them all together until they were touching. Then he conjured a yew wood case and enclosed the gems inside. Using his wand, he burnt containment runes into the surface of the wood, then called for Hermione to join him.

"Is it safe?" Hermione asked, trotting to his side.

"The yew wood is good for protection, it should contain the gems," said Harry. "We'll take them home, analyse them. I'd wager they are quartz. The stone has incredible memory properties, we should be able to pull the information recorded in it. We might be able to learn who placed them, and who the signals are being sent to, for there's no-one here now."

If any rebels were planning to gather here, they hadn't arrived yet. Harry was sure of that. He led the way through the little village square, past the pub and the graveyard, right to the ruined house at the very end of the road. The monument erected to he and his parents was on a plinth, just as he remembered. There was fresh graffiti on it.

Harry scowled at it. Flicked his wand into his hand, and blasted the whole thing into a hundred pieces.

"Nice shot," Hermione complimented. "Why did you aim for your own face?"

"I always fucking hated that thing," Harry growled.

"Your face or the statue?" asked Hermione.

"Both, but the statue more. Maybe."

"The one the Death Eaters put up for you is worse," said Hermione. "Let me show you."

Hermione led the way into the garden, and Harry scoffed angrily at the statue there. It was of a pair of round-rimmed spectacles, standing vertical, with cracks in each granite lens the shape of Harry's original lightning-bolt shaped scar. The date of his demise was etched into the stone base along with the legend:

'_In Memoriam. Of the Boy-Who-Died-Like-A-Coward'._

Harry raised his wand, but Hermione reached out to stop him. "Hey, you did the last one. I've hated this monstrosity much longer than you."

Harry conceded. Hermione obliterated it with one fierce blast from her wand. When the dust settled, there were no pieces bigger than a tennis ball. The air shifted with its destruction. Harry felt it, but Hermione didn't seem to. He suspected what it might mean, though chose not to say anything.

If they _were_ going to purge the country, why not start immediately.

"Show off," Harry quipped, toeing a shard that had landed at his feet.

"That was good therapy," said Hermione, re-holstering her wand. "Ron used to keep a picture of it, you know. I was dumb enough in the early days to think it was to remember you by. I later learned that _all_ Death Eaters kept a picture of it, to admire and revere, especially on the anniversary."

"I disagree," said Harry. "I don't think you could be dumb about anything."

Hermione smirked. "Not even when I tried to summon your undead spirit with a pentagram every year?"

"Even then. But what made you start holding those parties for me, anyway?" Harry asked, as they strode out for the house. "And the ritual, too? You'd never done anything like that before."

"I just didn't believe it, Harry," said Hermione. "That after everything you just went and bowed to Riddle. I know now that was half-true, but you were so manipulated, weren't you? I forgive you for it. You always were pretty dumb."

"Better that than _ugly_ dumb!" Harry joked.

"True," Hermione agreed. "But I just thought it must have been in the plan. Maybe you'd tricked Riddle, or gone all Obi-Wan Kenobi and become more powerful in death. Don't laugh, I was clinging to anything. I just _knew_, somehow, that you weren't gone. Luna put me onto the idea of ritual, but it was very basic compared to what you do. And the runes were all wrong. It's probably a good thing…who knows who I might have summoned if I'd gotten it right! Or what I might have done to the afterlife!"

Harry laughed. "Only you could break the world of the dead. Speaking of which…"

They were crossing the threshold now and Harry paused on the brink. Hermione took his hand and held it tight.

"You've not been in here…_since_?"

Harry shook his head. "I just couldn't. Even coming to the village is difficult. I took my parent's remains back to the palace, but I couldn't bring myself to come to the house. And now I know why."

Hermione nodded in understanding. The magic of the place was still lingering, dense and congealed. Harry could see flashes of memory imprinted into the fabric of the air - his father setting the rune traps, Sirius turning up panicked after Pettigrew was seen with the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm, Lily singing _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ to baby Harry, as the sounds of a wizard's duel thundered up from the floor below…

Harry stopped and fell into a crouched position, breathing hard. Hermione joined him.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"It's like being there," Harry moaned, scrunching his eyes against the memories. "Or like having a swarm of Dementors around me. I can't block them out. Even my Occlumency can't keep the images from my head."

"Harry…let's get out of here…and level the fucking place," said Hermione sternly. "There's nothing for you here now…only death."

Harry nodded solemnly. "You're right. Let's go, bring the place down, set the wards. And never return here again."

Hermione helped Harry back to his feet and guided him from the shattered building, past more images of his father and Tom Riddle, locked in ghostly battle, and into the garden at the back of the house. Harry sat down on the edge of an empty fish pond and took a moment to master himself.

"My dad put up a really good fight, you know," said Harry quietly, replaying the memory. "He was a match for Riddle in duelling skill, but just a little bit short when it came to raw power. Maybe…if my mum had helped him…"

"Don't think like that," said Hermione, sitting and sliding an arm around his hunched shoulders. "The Prophecy dictated their actions. I think your mum might have been too fraught with terror for you to fight properly. I know I would be…if it was_ our_ son in danger."

Harry tautened at that. The very idea made him shake with rage. "We're _never_ going to have to face that situation, that choice. Nobody will ever threaten our kids. Not if I'm alive enough to obliterate them for trying."

"I can almost feel the remnants of what went on here," said Hermione, gesturing sadly at the house. "No offence, but I'm glad I can't _see_ as you do. I don't think I could stand it. "

"I wish I had the composure to properly look through the place," said Harry. "My mum and dad have never gone into specific detail about the traps they set, except for the Parseltongue one. I'd have quite liked to analyse them."

"You would?" said Hermione in a small voice. "You'd like to see the runic conjuration your parents designed for their own deaths?"

Harry paled as the thought crossed his mind. "No…no of course I don't. That was stupid of me to say. That's all this place is, isn't it? A giant memorial to their sacrifice…to their deaths. And to think…I've obsessed about the site, about coming back here. I even thought about _living_ here when all was said and done. How could I even have considered it?"

"You were probably thinking it would be a fitting tribute to them," said Hermione. "A way to honour their memory."

Harry nodded in agreement. "But the reality is I'd be living in the place where they were murdered, with that very despicable act imprinted in the very ether. I don't want to be here anymore, Hermione. I don't think I can stand to be for a minute longer."

"Come on then," said Hermione. "Lets play _The Three Little Pigs_ game."

Harry chortled at that. "What? We'll huff and we'll puff and we'll blow the house down?"

"Yeah…with a serious of blasting hexes right to the fucking foundations! Ready?"

He was and, after throwing up a protection ward around them, they began firing hex after hex at the house. It fell in pieces, with walls tumbling left and right, until the super structure buckled under the weight of the roof and upper floor and collapsed completely in a huge cloud of dust.

Then the dust settled. And through the steadily falling gloom, a battalion of Death Eaters advanced across the garden.

Harry looked at Hermione. She seemed unfazed, and simply nodded at him. She'd _known_ all along. She'd felt the signal sent out by the destruction of his monument. She raised her wand to him. Her magic was pounding from it. She flicked it and a giant scoreboard emerged in the air above them, with each of their names etched into it.

"Just so we can see who wins," she replied to his curious smirk. "But, I think a bit of help might be in order."

Then Hermione began casting spells so fast even Harry was stunned. And what she was doing even made the thirty or so Death Eaters stop in their tracks. For she was showing off her skills of Transfiguration, reforming the house rubble into giant stone chess pieces, twelve feet tall, that stood guard in front of them. When she was done, she turned to Harry, his jaw open in impressed awe.

"They'll call this night the _Justice of Minerva McGonagall_," Hermione cried angrily. "Pieces! To war!"

And they charged. These weren't the immobile statues that were contained to the giant board under Hogwarts, though. They were lithe, tough as granite, and fast. The Death Eaters broke ranks, screeching angrily and firing ineffectual spells, as the giant knights careered through them swinging maces, the huge hooves of the stone horses trampling them, crushing ribcages and splattering skulls. It was quite a disgusting sight. A mammoth bishop skewered a Death Eater on the end of his ceremonial lance, the queen beheaded another by swinging her crown into his throat, and all the while Harry and Hermione just stood and watched.

Then Harry winked at her, vanished as a wizard and snarled loudly, as that lion he kept inside emerged in his place. Somehow, he seemed even _bigger_ than before. He was massive. He darted through the melee, swiping those huge, razor-sharp claws at the disorientated enemies, slicing a throat here, disembowlening there. Hermione looked up at the scoreboard and huffed. It said _Harry 7, Hermione 0_. But she could barely see enough black-robed foes to even the score. By the time Harry returned to her and transformed he had reached double figures.

"Well that was fun," he smirked, glancing up at the scoreboard, and sheathing a stray claw back into a regular fingernail. "Oh look…I won."

Hermione frowned at him. "Excuse me…_my _chess set won! You just picked off the stragglers."

"The scoreboard tends to disagree," said Harry. "That was singularly brilliant, though. I'll give you that. What gave you the idea?"

"I've been thinking, that's all."

"It was some pretty hot thinking," Harry quipped. "Enlighten me."

"We need an army, you said," Hermione replied. "We don't currently have one."

"So you've been working on the problem," Harry nodded, impressed. "And you were led onto war games. Like chess. That's pretty fucking superb."

Hermione blushed under Harry's admiration. "I was actually thinking of the Terracotta Army. I went to China once and saw it. The image just came to mind. I was thinking we could do that. Transfigure clay figures or Muggle toys, perhaps even use elemental runic spells to shoot out fire and ice bolts. We might only get one or two shots but it'd be something."

Harry grinned at her. "You're just too fucking badass. It's the hottest thing. I almost feel bad for outscoring you. Almost."

"Hmmm," Hermione huffed. She dismissed the damning scoreboard with a flick of her wand. "I still say that was too easy."

"I don't think Riddle would have sent anyone good to respond to the destruction of my little shrine," said Harry. "I doubt he would think I'd do it personally. He's probably expecting us to attack Hogwarts. His elite forces will be there. To be honest, I have no idea how I'm going to get even close to _them_."

"The Dementors?" Hermione asked softly. "You're worried about them?"

"I can't face that many in one go," said Harry. "It's gotten worse since I _met_ my mum and dad. To hear them being killed now…well, you saw what it did to me in the house."

"Then we have to find some way to ward you against them," said Hermione. "Modify the Patronus Charm, perhaps. Actually no, I have a better idea."

"Which is?"

"I wasn't lying when I said I'd never let anything hurt you again," said Hermione, thinking fast. "The Dementors attack your mind, but I also have access to that, by being able to hear your thoughts. Harry…maybe if Celesca can help me get into your mind again, we can build you a sort of internal Patronus Shield, using my power, my protective love, to defend you from attack. Could that work?"

Harry considered it, trying to find a reason that it wouldn't. The Dementors were driven away _physically_ by the Patronus, but it was the effects of being near them that Harry couldn't cope with. If he could block their signal from his mind, maybe he could have a chance against them.

"We'd have to create a defensive mind fort," said Harry, thoughtfully. "Enola might have an idea about how to do that. It wouldn't be a new mind plane, but it would a sort of first line of defence. Celesca may be able to do something, to divert any incoming signal trying to penetrate my mind towards it…even your signal. Narcissa could help there."

"Then that's what we'll do," said Hermione. She smirked at Harry. "But, as soon as this is all done, we'll dismantle the fort. Don't think you're blocking me out that easily!"

Harry grinned at her. "Spoilsport. Come on. Let's set this ward. You remember the spells, right?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you? We can put up a shitty little tent to jog your memory if you don't!"

"Catty!" Harry laughed. "Let's get started. You have a secret to keep, after all…before this new secret gets out."

He motioned to the bodies strewn around the garden, and the tiny chess set now sat on the former site of Harry's memorial statue. He looked at it fondly, wondering how many more moves it would take for him to achieve checkmate in his own, slightly bigger game.

* * *

"It's a sound idea," said Enola, pacing around Harry and Hermione as she considered the problem. "And the magic would be similar to creating the mind planes, only we'd be _building_ rather than breaking."

Hermione frowned. She didn't like the idea of Harry's mind being broken, even though it had been repaired now. She felt any concept of his suffering as if it were her own physical pain.

"I agree," said Narcissa, who was sat next to Celesca and Luna on the couch nearby. The whole group were taking tea in the Breakfast Room, as a pale sun shone weakly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Mind Magic all follows a similar tract; a spell to infiltrate and the shields to repel it. And, like anything, if the attack is stronger than the defence then the mind is penetrated."

"Like Legilimency versus Occlumency," Hermione nodded sagely.

"Exactly," said Narcissa. "Occlumency does two things - either blocks an attack directly, or diverts it to a different outcome than the reality."

"Which is what Severus Snape did with Tom Riddle," said Harry. "Snape didn't want Riddle to know his two-faced reality, but didn't want to let on that he was blocking him, either. So he redirected him to a different conclusion, when Riddle used Legilimency on him."

"But how can we adapt that for this purpose?" asked Hermione.

"It should be pretty much the same," said Enola. "The Dementors emit a stream of magic that hacks into a person's psyche, dredging up their worst memories to debilitate them. In the wild, they'd then perform the Kiss to feed on the poor bastard's soul. All we have to do is block that initial mental incursion."

"Which a powerful internal Patronus could do, as it's a standard repellent for Dementors," said Narcissa. "I agree with you, Hermione. And, powered by both your love and your alchemical marriage bond, it should be nigh on impenetrable."

Hermione smiled brilliantly at Harry, revelling in the triumph of her plan. He allowed himself to hope this would work.

"I'm not sure we could offset the physical effects entirely," said Enola. "You would probably still feel the cold of the Dementors, but you'd still have your mind clear to burn the wraiths to death. That might warm you up!"

Harry laughed at that. "I'll stack them up on a pyre if that's the case."

"How long will it take to set that up?" asked Hermione. "Will we need a ritual?"

Narcissa looked down at Celesca, who grinned at Hermione.

"No, Lady Hermione," said Celesca. "I can do it right now if you want. And it'll be easier than last time."

"Why's that?"

"Well, and I hope this doesn't make you cross, but I had to use my own magic to stick yours and Master Harry's together when you married. We are sort of…_joined_ now. Only a little bit, though. So I hope that's okay."

Hermione beamed at her. "That's incredible sweetheart. Is…is that why Harry and I have a more _internal_ connection now?"

"Yes, I think that's what we've decided," said Narcissa smiling, as Celesca clapped her hands gleefully. "Cesc and I have been investigating it. The alchemical wedding was always going to join you and Harry in that deep, spiritual way. But I think it would have just have resulted in a greater empathic sense between you. It wouldn't have been anything like as specific as it is. But, having used the most natural Seer to be born in Britain in five hundred years, I think it has transplanted aspects of her power onto you both. There's every chance any children you have could carry heightened sense-related powers, too."

"Wow," said Harry. He drew in a startled breath and spoke quietly. "Does…does that mean Celesca is almost _related_ to us, though? If we share a connection that profound and intimate now? That's…that's how it works in…_magical adoption,_ isn't it?"

Hermione gasped aloud next to him.

"It means you have a fundamental link to her, that is similar to one you might create with an adoption, yes," said Narcissa. "Actually…on that note…Luna?"

Luna swallowed hard, and eyed Harry and Hermione carefully. "I've been trying to find the right time to ask this, so this is as good as any, I suppose. I want Celesca to be safe and looked after, if anything happens to me. Don't look like that…I could easily have been killed when I was imprisoned at Hengest. That was too close to call.

"I was hoping…actually_ we_ were hoping," Luna smiled down at Celesca, who nodded enthusiastically at Harry and Hermione in turn, with a ridiculously eager grin. "That you might consent to becoming Celesca's magical Godparents. In the event of anything happening to me, she'd fall under your care. Of course, Harry, I know you have Alison already, so if you'd rather not…"

"Yes!" Hermione cried out. Her eyes dampening with her euphoria. "We utterly agree! Don't we, Harry?"

"Of course we do!" Harry chirped. "I was going to offer…but it didn't seem right to."

Celesca jumped up and raced to Hermione's arms. "I'm going to be the best God-daughter ever, I promise! Ooh, and me and Ally will be God-sisters, too! She'll be ever so pleased."

Luna laughed. "Thank you. I know you'll take care of her…if anything…"

"_Nothing_ will," said Harry firmly. "To _either _of you. But if she's ever threatened, I will rip apart the one who tries. She'll be as protected as if she were our own daughter, I swear that to you."

Luna nodded, happy tears in her eyes, too.

"Now, _that_ will need a ritual," Narcissa quipped. "But, one thing at a time. "Let's build your mental fortress first."

"But, Cissa," said Harry. "We'll need to test it. I don't want to rock up to Hogwarts to confront Riddle, only to be reduced to a quivering mess."

"There used to be a Boggart on the second floor," said Enola. "Would that work?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Part of my alchemical transformation was to be aware of tricks and illusions. It was like the third gate of my journey. I actually think it happened when I found Sirius. I got over the tricks and illusions of his and Pettigrew's true nature. After that, magical creatures couldn't trick me anymore. That just got stronger when I really got into alchemy. My mind would know that the Boggart wasn't real, and wouldn't react to it when it changed shape to be a Dementor."

Hermione shot him a startled look. "Is…is that why you're immune to Veela?"

Narcissa now threw him an equally surprised stare. "You're _immune_ to Veela? You never said."

Harry shrugged. "It never came up."

"But you know that Riddle has recruited Veela, right? We've lost so many wizards to their honey traps. We could have found a way to harvest your resistance to their allure. Their beast forms eat their victims, did you know?"

Harry shuddered. "No, I actually didn't. And to think…it's probably the fantasy of lots of wizards to be _gobbled_ by a Veela woman…"

"Harry!" Hermione admonished. "There are children here."

"Sorry," he replied, but Hermione's grin gave her humour away. "In any case, that's only part of why I'm immune to Veela. Their allure is always nullified by true love. And, during my first encounter with them, I was with you, Min. Your very voice cut through the illusion-like effect on my brain, showed me how ridiculous i was being, and protected me from them ever since."

Hermione just looked at him, astonished but adoringly.

"Gobbled?" asked Celesca innocently. "Why would wizards want to be gobbled by a monster?"

Harry bit on his lip and tried to look meek. "Veela are not monsters. Well…I say that…but _are they_?"

"They are hybrids," said Hermione. "But at least they aren't dead, like vampires. That's bestiality and necrophilia in one weird fetish. Veela are more like bird versions of mermaids."

"I'd like to be a mermaid," said Celesca, thoughtfully. "They're really pretty."

"Not real ones," said Harry darkly. "And they couldn't _possibly_ be as pretty as you."

Celesca beamed at him.

"Plus, they are half fish," Hermione frowned. "I never quite understood the attraction there."

"I know," said Harry, grinning. "I also think they are the wrong way around. Why would you want a human top and a fish tail? All the fun bits of a woman are on the bottom half!"

Luna giggled but Hermione huffed at Harry. "That's enough filth from you. Besides, I'll have you know my intellect and sparkling wit are two of my most attractive features, and both come from my '_top half'_."

"You're quite right," Harry smirked. "Come on, Cesc. Let's get my wife into my head before she decides to bash it in."

Narcissa stood and reached for her cloak. "I'll leave you in Enola's care for this. Harry…do you mind lending those two fierce security witches to me for a few hours?"

"Where are you going? Cabinet meeting?" Narcissa frowned at Harry's poor joke. She'd been insanely irritated by her estranged husband's rise to power in the Muggle world. "Sorry…too soon?"

"Can I borrow Myfanwy and Angharad or what?"

"Depends. Where are you taking them?"

"Just for a spot of wild Dementor catching," Narcissa replied bluntly. She rolled up her sleeve. Her black tattoo was moving on her arm, roiling and slithering angrily. "Now that we've been _summoned,_ the Dark Mark gives us a sort of immunity to the Dementors. We are supposed to revel in the misery they inspire, after all. I'll have you a test subject in no time."

* * *

Harry stood in the quiet of the Ritual Room, slowly placing conjuration stones in a square all around him. There wasn't a lot of room, but there didn't really need to be. There were three stones on each of the four sides of the square Harry was mapping, each set about a foot apart from its neighbour. Harry took out his rune stylus and sat cross-legged at the centre of the square.

Each side would have the same combination of three runes. Harry had chosen them carefully. Uruz - for strength, power and endurance - would be the centre of the line of three. The magical force, crossing at the point where the energy lines intersected, on the spot where he was currently sat, would hold even a natural disaster still. A simple wizard like Tom Riddle wouldn't have a prayer of physical or spiritual escape.

Hagalaz came next, for protection, success against difficult situations and breaking unhealthy patterns. Harry rather thought that Voldemort trying to kill him for his entire life was a pattern he'd quite like to see the end of. Elhaz was the third rune stone, to solidify the strength and protection Harry was building. He finished his careful carving, cast his magic into the stones with his wand, then flicked a spell at them.

And a cage of pure, silvery-white magic shot up all around him. He could feel its power, he knew it was ready to house the prisoner it was designed for. Harry cancelled his spell non-verbally and the magic bars dissipated away. There was just one more rune. Harry drew it onto the dark floor tiles between the stones with his stylus. Then he added more magic to it, and stepped away carefully.

"Eihwaz…the Death Rune. Nice choice."

Harry spun quickly, his wand snapping to his fingertips on reflex, pulsing with his magical potency as it did so. Neville Longbottom jumped back from the sparks which touched his cheeks. "Nev…you should know that sneaking up on me might land you a broken bone or two. What the hell are you playing at?"

"Sorry, I didn't think I needed to knock these days," Neville whispered in fearful reply, as Harry holstered his wand.

Harry just frowned at him. "I'm a _military_ grade mage, Nev…you _always_ need to knock."

"So noted," said Neville. "We're still sticking to the plan then? Even though we've de-magicked Tom Riddle?"

Harry looked at him darkly. "I'm not known for taking things lightly, am I? I don't trust Dumbledore, and I don't even want to tell you what I think about Gellert bloody Grindelwald. Dumbledore lied to me, duped me, manipulated me. I wont believe Tom Riddle is a Squib until I see that surprised look on his face, when The Elder Wand doesn't channel a spell at me. Dumbledore's word isn't good enough for me. I half think I should be designing this cage for _his_ soul, not Riddle's."

"Harry…"

"I'm serious," Harry replied. "It's not about _me_ anymore_, _Nev. None of this is. I've come to understand that in the last week. Since my mind planes closed I've realised that much of my anger, my rage, it's not to do with me. With Riddle, yes, he killed my parents and tried to kill me. Twice. But after that it wasn't just _me_ he was threatening. It was _her_…my Hermione. Directly."

"How so?"

"She was a mere room away from Riddle when he was body sharing with Quirrell, a mirror away from death at the hands of the basilisk," Harry explained. "Add to that a years' worth of lessons with Barty Crouch Jnr. Don't even get me started on her near-death experience at the Ministry in fifth year. Then, in sixth year, Dumbledore knew all about what that cunt Malfoy was up to…and he did _nothing_. He let Death Eaters into the school and Hermione could have easily been in their line of fire. Dumbledore was at fault for _all_ of the above.

"Draco was a dangerous blood supremacist. Always was. And he regularly suggested Hermione should be killed for her blood status. And Dumbledore never pulled him for it, and he wasn't exactly shy about that view. That makes them both beyond redemption in my book. The only reason Draco didn't turn me in, when we were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor while hunting the Horcruxes, was because he was basically a coward back then, and didn't want to get his hands dirty.

"He still returned to Hogwarts and tried to find Ravenclaw's lost diadem, didn't he? Even his own mother admits he was beyond forgiveness, once he killed for the first time. She still wont tell me the details of that, but it must have been pretty horrendous. And I saw, in Hermione's memories, how often he threatened to torture and murder her, as his own personal treat, once he was made the head of Section Seven. Damn how I'd have loved to watch him burn in that fire and not gone back to save him…but then, Narcissa wouldn't have helped me, I suppose. Funny how these things work out, isn't it?"

"And I can see what you mean about the other stuff, too," said Neville. "Dumbledore stored the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts knowing that someone was trying to steal it, thus bringing danger to all the kids. He should have known that Hagrid's dog and giant spiders couldn't have killed someone after Petrifying them. And he hired Crouch and should have prepared you better about Riddle trying to rape your mind. Yeah, maybe we should try and summon his spirit and banish it too…to wherever you're going to send Riddle's. Where is that, again?"

"There's a dimension beyond the Veil," said Harry. "But it can only be accessed from that side. It's basically a prison. There is, unfortunately, no way to completely destroy life energy once it's been created in the universe. This is the next best thing. Riddle will be trapped in a pocket of _nothing_. Empty space. Unable to move, see, hear…anything. Eventually, his consciousness will just…stop. His energy will be forever dormant, but it will be a maddening and excruciating experience."

"How long will that take?"

"Merlin reckons a few thousand years should do it. He's going to take care of Riddle's fate once he reaches the other side."

Neville's jaw dropped open. "Fuck me, Harry…I'm glad I'm on _your_ team!"

Harry smirked. "I'm glad you are, too. I think what I have planned for Ron is worse, but it's all subjective I suppose."

"Shall I even ask?"

"It's not certain yet," said Harry. "I have to okay it with Hermione. Let's just say it's a toss up between an eternity of torture and agony, or an eternity of soul-draining nothingness. Riddle might just yet have the better deal."

"And how long until you can enact this delicious revenge on Ron?" asked Neville, grinning darkly. "I want to book a front row seat."

"Oh don't be mistaken, brother, this isn't revenge," said Harry. "It's a reckoning. I've had my revenge, if you like. I've beaten the Big Happy Weasley Family conspiracy by falling in love with, and marrying, Hermione. Their biggest crime against _me_ was trying to prevent that. It's functionally equivalent to defying the true course of nature as far as I'm concerned.

"No, this is about answering for his wrongs against Hermione, herself…and from the moment he threw his first punch at her, he condemned himself to an eternity of hurt. He committed the crime…now he has to do the _time_…I just need to learn how to trap him in a little device that will make him relive his most painful moments over and over and over again…"

Neville's eyes went wide. "You're going to trap his soul…in a modified _Time-Turner?"_

Harry grinned darkly and reached into his shirt and drew out the instrument that hung there, the hourglass hanging suspended between the golden hoops. It looked harmless, was in fact one of the most dangerous magical artefacts every created, and very soon Harry hoped to turn it into the worst prison ever conceived. A prison there would be _no_ Weasley-ing out of.


	22. A Riddle Solved

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

There had been many times over the past five years that Hermione had considered ending her life. She looked back on them all with shame now, not to mention a sense of cold dread, considering the incredible way things had turned out, but there it was. She couldn't change it anymore than she could erase the horrors she'd endured. But she'd come to think of it all as her toll, showing the courage and endurance to survive The Dark World Order and her marriage to Ron, all to make her strong enough and worthy enough to have Harry come back to her, for them to finally embrace their love for one another, and to share a wonderful future of marriage and family.

It was the universe's way of rewarding her and, in her mind, there was no better prize to be had.

But, despite Hermione believing ideas of suicide were a thing confined to her past, this evening she found her mind back on the trail of how she might die. She had always been a stubborn, bossy sort, and if she could have any control in the details of her death she wasn't going to be denied by anyone. Warriors of old dreamed of going down in battle, Captains going down with their ships.

And now, Hermione Potter had her own idea of the perfect way to die…and there was a _going down_ involved with that, too.

For she was in the throes of excruciating ecstasy and, if it led to her death, she really wasn't going to complain in the slightest. For she had all her favourite things happening at once; she was in the library of her palace, there were books all around and - which she was finding maddeningly arousing - _under her_, and her husband was buried balls-deep in her pussy whilst he nibbled and suckled on her neck. The filthy keening sounds she was making were the thing that drove _him_ the most wild - he'd told her so - so Hermione stopped fighting to hold them back and just groaned louder in time with her writhing hips.

That was probably why neither she nor Harry heard the door open.

"Lady Hermione…are you okay? I heard you making some very funny noises so I thought I'd better see if you were all right. What are you _doing_ to her, Master Harry? I don't think she likes it, whatever it is."

Harry and Hermione rolled off the table and flew apart, fitfully embarrassed. Hermione flicked an _Accio_ at her knickers, which she had to cast a repairing charm on - due to Harry tearing them in his eagerness to get them off - before she clothed herself. The buttons on her blouse could be anywhere, so she just pinned the two sides together in her fist for now. She glowered at Harry.

"I thought you locked the door!" she hissed.

"Why would there be a lock on the door to the _library_," Harry quirked. "I thought _you_ cast a privacy charm."

"No, I thought _you_ did!"

"Wow, that's a lot of spells I've not cast," Harry grinned.

"I thought you did it _non-verbally," _Hermione breathed crossly. "You know how you like to show off."

Harry chortled. "Me? I wasn't the one who knew what I'd get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormword before I'd even _arrived_ at a Potions class!"

Hermione stilled in her anger, and smiled at him fondly. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do. It's my first memory in the _Hermione being brilliant_ archive. Lets just say you made an impression on me from the word _'go',_" said Harry. He cast a sealing charm on Hermione's blouse. He did it non-verbally, just to make a point. So she just poked her tongue out in response.

Just then, Celesca's head popped around the side of the table. "What are you doing _now_? If we're playing hide and seek this really isn't the best place, is it? Besides, it'll be a very short game if you both hide in the same spot."

"No it wouldn't," said Hermione, standing up and straightening herself out. "Sorry, sweetie, Harry was just…er…helping me…get a spider off me. There's lots around just now."

Celesca nodded in sagely agreement. "Yes there are, I've seen some huge ones in the garden. But it's really bad luck that it crawled up into your foofy. You shouldn't really have taken your knickers off, should you? Though it is awfully hot in here today. I think I might start wearing two pairs from now on, just in case."

Hermione's blush went from bright red to crimson.

"Yes, that's good advice," said Harry, who was laughing hard from his place on the floor.

"And it's a very lucky thing," Celesca went on, with an approving nod. "That you were here to get the spider out with your willy. Do spiders like eating them, or something?"

Harry blushed now as he semi-choked on Celesca's words. "What…what makes you think I was…doing that…for the spider, I mean?"

"Well…your willy's _still out_," said Celesca, pointing at Harry, who hadn't realised he was still naked from the waist down.

"Oh, _fuck!"_ he yelped, pulling a book to cover his modesty. Hermione was rocking with giggles, so much so that she had to sit down before she fell down.

"Don't worry, I think I'll get any spiders out myself, so they wont have to eat your willy if you need to help me," said Celesca sweetly. She turned to Hermione. "What are you reading about? There are lots of books out."

"We're trying to find ways to get into Hogwarts," Hermione replied, pulling out a seat for Celesca to join her. "The evil snake-man - who's called Tom Riddle, by the way - is hiding there with a big army. We need to find a way to get to him."

"But didn't you take his magic?" asked Celesca.

"Yes, but we don't know how far reaching that is," said Hermione.

"And he isn't likely to go around advertising the fact," Harry added as he joined them at the table. "It isn't as if his wand will suddenly snap…it will just be a useless piece of wood in his hands."

"Why don't you just tell everyone? Maybe someone will try and kill him for you," said Celesca.

"That's not a _terrible_ idea, you know," said Hermione, nodding to Harry.

"No, aside from the fact that if someone takes Riddle's place we might actually have a _competent_ enemy to fight against," said Harry. "Keeping Riddle in power is the best situation for us right now. He makes so many mistakes that he makes it easier for us."

"Like with Lucius, you mean?"

"Exactly. Riddle trying to turn the Muggles against us was a desperate tactic, putting Lucius Malfoy in charge was just dumb. He was punished by being forced to work with the Muggles at MI5, but at least it put him in a position of authority. Now, when Narcissa exposes him as liar, the Muggles will turn against him and expose all the Dark Wizards in the Government. Then they'll side with us, and we can use William's coronation as a way to Memory Charm the entire country."

"It's an ambitious plan," said Hermione. "I just hope it works. The Death Eaters are providing security for the Royals, don't forget. They aren't staying at The Tower of London for safety, Harry…they're being held prisoner there."

"I know," said Harry bitterly. "We just need to know which of their guards are on our side… which one's we need to kill."

"Who's the Fat Lady?" asked Celesca, absently reading one of the scattered books.

"The _who_?" asked Hermione.

"The Fat Lady," Celesca repeated, sliding the book to Hermione. "That one there."

Celesca was pointing at a picture, one Harry and Hermione had seen literally thousands of times before.

"It says this palace was built for her, but she's better known as The Fat Lady," Celesca went on. "That's not a nice thing to say about her, is it?"

Harry pulled his chair to look more closely at the book.

"Well, isn't this interesting, Harry?" said Hermione, her eyes alive with curiosity as she read. "_The Fat Lady of Gryffindor Tower was known in life as Seren, the daughter of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw. Godric restored the ancestral castle of his forebears, Brecon Castle in Wales, as a wedding gift, converting the crumbling ruin into a resplendent country palace._

_"Seren was to marry Robert, Duke of Pembroke. Robert was the last of a powerful line, sired by Sir Jean-Luc de Mimsy, who had arrived as part of the Norman conquest and was a respected French knight. He took a political wedding to Catherine Porpington, the daughter of an English nobleman. The de Mimsy-Porpington line lasted until 1492, when its last surviving member, Nicholas, was killed by botched beheading."_

"Wow!" said Harry. "That's fascinating, isn't it?"

"I didn't know any of that," Hermione frowned. "It isn't mentioned at all in _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Who is she at Hogwarts?" asked Celesca.

"There's a portrait of her, the same as that picture," Hermione explained. "It guards the door to the Gryffindor Tower Common Room and bedrooms. Well…it did before the houses were all disbanded. I wonder what happened to it."

"Burned, probably," said Harry, ruefully. "I've often amused myself by thinking Tom changed all the portraits to ones of him in different poses. There'll be the Christmas collection down by the dungeons - with him in sparkly Santa hats as he cuts the turkey and hands out presents; then there'll be ones of him and the family - you know, canoodling with the Carrows and bathtime with Bella - in the Trophy Room. I truly hope the Common Rooms are all protected by his swimsuit portfolio…and that Gryffindor Tower got the one of him in a man-kini."

Hermione giggled at the images. "Merlin…Harry! That's a vision I might not ever be able to unsee!"

"Well, think of it as one for the laughter bank," said Harry. He leant back and yawned, starting a chain reaction with the girls.

"I think I'm going to turn in," said Hermione. "My mind's turning to clay."

"Yeah, mine, too," Celesca agreed, rubbing her temples as if trying to mould them.

"And you, madam, are up _way_ past your bedtime," said Hermione. She stood and lifted Celesca into her arms, letting her sleepy head droop to her shoulder. "Come on, lets get you to bed."

"I'll just clean up the books, then," said Harry in mock crossness.

"Yes, honey, you do that," Hermione quirked with a grin. "And if you're _very_ quick, I think that spider might still need fishing out…if your _rod_ is up to the task."

Then she winked at him and flounced sexily from the library.

* * *

Enola looked fondly at the little pile of clothes that was steadily mounting on her bed. There were babygros and mittens and vests and little hats. They had been lurking in the corners of wardrobes and the back of cupboards, but now Enola had decided to inventory them, just to see what she would need to buy new.

Hermione was recording all the items on a sheet of parchment, matching them off against the list of 'must-haves' that Enola had dictated to her earlier. It caused Hermione to pale, as she realised just how little she knew about the nuts and bolts of motherhood.

"The thing was, Ally was quite a little baby," said Enola.

"Aren't they all little?" asked Hermione, catching a bag of muslin cloths Enola tossed to her.

"Well, yes, but some are littler than others," Neville's wife replied. "I could just buy all new, I suppose, but it seems such a waste."

"It's a pity I'm having a boy, or else these frilly bows might be quite handy!" said Hermione, examining the items in her hands. She noticed her fingers were trembling.

"Any…_advance,_ on that front?" asked Enola, lightly.

"We've been doing a lot of trying," said Hermione, blushing. "Harry is constantly re-strengthening the new wards on our bedroom, and naturally we have to test them out."

"Naturally." Enola agreed, grinning wickedly.

"But I'm not due for another few days, and I'm really hoping I don't come on at all."

Enola crossed the room and sat with Hermione. "You really are keen, aren't you? It's amazing, really, to see this side of you. When I helped you to hobble up to bed on that first night, all those months ago, I'd have never imagined we'd be sat here having this conversation."

"You and me both," Hermione agreed. "It's all happened so fast, but I'm glad about that, because it gives me and Harry more time to make up for all the things we missed out on together."

"Like having babies," said Enola.

"Precisely. I see you with Alison, and all the time I spend with Luna and Celesca, and I just get extremely jealous and rueful. I feel like Harry and I are playing catch-up with everything."

"And how does he feel about all this?"

"A mix of excited and terrified," said Hermione, smirking. "But I'm the same. So it's okay. We've done the getting married bit, now the family part is next for us. And we're both in a hurry to get it going."

"Which is why you're having sex in every room in the house!" Enola laughed.

"How did you know about that?" Hermione blushed.

"Min…the library is on the first floor, next to the main staircase. Sound carries everywhere in the palace from there. And those were _some_ sounds you were making!"

"Oh good Merlin!"

"Yeah…I think that was one of them!" said Enola. "The library, though? Really? I'm not sure I could get turned on in a library."

"You clearly don't know _me_ at all, then!" Hermione giggled. "It must be one of my top fantasies…I've dreamt of Harry screwing me senseless on a pile of books since I was about thirteen_!"_

Enola hooted a laugh at that. "And was it as good as you hoped?"

"Well it was going that way…until poor Cesc walked in on us!" Hermione confessed. Enola roared and fell back onto the pile of baby clothes. "She saw Harry half-naked and everything."

"Which half?" Enola snorted.

"The rude half," Hermione replied.

Enola sat up, shaking her head. "That lucky little witch. She'll be the envy of the house once she starts telling everyone _that_."

"I thought _I_ was the envy of the house?" Hermione protested good-naturedly.

"No, Min, people are too scared of you to envy you," said Enola. "Nobody wants to risk starting a blood feud with Mrs Potter!"

Hermione smirked. "I love hearing that. My new name, I mean. I know it's terribly old fashioned for a woman to be proud to take her husband's name and everything, but I really love being Mrs Hermione Potter. It's so much more fulfilling then when I was just plain old Hermione Granger. And don't get me started on how it felt to be Hermione Weasley. Merlin…I feel dirty and diseased just by saying it!"

Enola chortled. "I bet. I like being Ennie Longbottom, you know, now that I think about it. My name has character. Enola Hart was nice enough, but a bit dull."

Hermione was struck by something just then, a realisation that made her feel quite dense.

"Ennie…where _is_ your father? I've never met him and I can't remember you ever mentioning him."

Enola's expression sagged a moment and she looked away. She bothered a loose thread on one of the baby bonnets. Hermione felt her heart twinge at the look on her best friend's face.

"Sorry…I didn't mean to pry," she said softly. "You don't have to tell me if it's a difficult subject."

"No…no, it's fine," Enola sighed. "I just…the story isn't a nice one. That's all. My dad was a bastard. I don't really like thinking about him too much."

"I'm sorry, En. I shouldn't have brought it up," said Hermione.

"He cheated on my mum, see," Enola blurted out. "She was heartbroken by it. I never knew him, but I can see in her eyes how it shattered her, whenever we've spoken about it. I've never forgiven my father for what he did."

"What happened to him?"

"He ran off to join the Death Eaters during Riddle's first blood war," said Enola. "My Dad was all in with those politics. Tried to get my my mum to go, too, but she wouldn't. So he tried to kill her. He beat her and left her for dead. Took my brother into the bargain to use as a blood sacrifice, to prove his loyalty to Riddle. What he didn't know was that Mum was pregnant with me, and we both survived. I was born just a few months before Harry was attacked by Riddle as a baby."

"Wow, Ennie," Hermione breathed. "I'm so sorry. No wonder you hate Riddle so much, and your father. Did you ever find out what became of him?"

Enola shook her head. "There aren't very many reliable records about the Death Eaters from back then. If they weren't caught or placed in Azkaban, many just fled abroad or pretended they'd been under spells. Or committed suicide. Mum thinks that's what happened, because there was no trace of him and he didn't resurface when Riddle was resurrected.

"And there's the fact that he was just a fucking coward. Battering a pregnant woman just to join a thuggish gang of blood supremacists. Harry has offered several times to hunt him down, but I agree with Mum. He's dead…and if turns out he _isn't_, I'm going to be the one who deals with him. I'll gut the fucking cunt."

Even Hermione winced at Enola's furious anger. Replacing her restrictions, after they'd killed the Weasleys, was a decision Hermione had a feeling she'd never likely regret.

"What about you, though?" Enola asked. "How are you coping with what happened to _your_ parents? You haven't really spoken much about that."

Hermione shifted awkwardly. "I feel terribly guilty about it, but the sensible part of me knows it wasn't my fault. There wasn't anything I could have done, not with that shroud of stupidity over my eyes. I feel more ashamed of my own actions than guilty about what I let happen to Mum and Dad."

"What do you mean?"

"I was a stupid, foolish coward, En," said Hermione, sinking low into the bed. "I gave up on Harry without a fight. I know all the signs pointed to him being dead, but I _knew_ he couldn't have been. Even then, I knew he wouldn't have done that to _me_…he wouldn't have gone without saying goodbye. Not to me…he might have told everyone else to kiss his arse, but he would have come to me one last time.

"But I allowed myself to be manipulated by Ron. He took advantage of my grief, made me doubt myself. I gave up the fight _without_ a fight, if you see what I mean. I should have kept struggling, joined a resistance movement, maybe even left Britain on Harry's Ratway. We could have lived together in Germany, or something. We could have found my parents, restored their memories, put them into Harry's house in Berlin, where they would have been safe. Then I could have trained with him to take this fight to Riddle. As it is, I'm short of what Harry needs me to be, and my parents were murdered by Ron and Terry Boot and their souls damaged by Ginny and Riddle.

"I've failed everyone so _massively_, Enola."

Hermione felt her eyes well with tears, as she confessed her secret self-loathing to Enola, who scooted to her and drew her into a fierce hug.

"Hey, hey come on," said Enola consolingly. "Don't think like that. You didn't fail anyone. The bad guys are the bastards in this, not you. And that's why they are the bad guys…because they're a pack of arseholes. My dad…your ex-husband…they are despicable excuses for human beings. We are going to rid the world of the whole fucking lot of them!"

Hermione laughed weakly and snivelled a bit.

"And as for this crap about you being short of what Harry needs," Enola added. "I've never heard such Unicorn-shite in my whole life! Nobody who has seen you together, or seen the incredible effect you've had on Harry since you arrived back in his life, could deny that you are _everything_ that he needs…in a million ways and more! He and my Nev are brothers-in-blood, making Harry _my _blood brother by proxy. And that makes _you_ my sister-in-blood-law. And let me tell you, girl, I couldn't be prouder than I am to have you as that!"

Hermione hugged Enola tight. "I love you, I hope you know that."

"I do," said Enola. "And Harry is damned lucky that you love him, too. You are everything he wants _and_ needs. You are a perfect wife, perfect lover…and you are going to be a perfect Mum, too. You'll see. Now, come on…enough of this crying nonsense. You're getting tears all over my unborn daughter's enchanted pixie onesie!"

* * *

Each floor of the Blue Palace had its own attic space. The residents of the various suites had demanded it, but who exactly had converted the place with a slew of spatial modification charms was a detail lost to history. Harry suspected it must have been one of the previous Lords of the Manor, who had all resided on the seventh and uppermost floor, and consequently made the attic space there the biggest of the lot.

It was bigger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

At the moment Harry, Hermione, Neville and Enola were clambering around the vast space, looking through the assorted collection of junk and priceless artwork that was gathering dust there. Harry wanted to test a theory, but so far the search was frustratingly fruitless.

"How weird is that, though?" said Neville, continuing the train of conversation they'd been having. "So, Nearly Headless Nick was, like, the great-great-great Grandson of the Fat Lady?"

"Something like that," Hermione confirmed.

"And this palace was built for her?" asked Neville.

"Yep," said Harry, yanking a gilded frame and checking its contents, before dropping it again with a dull thud.

"And you think she might have a portrait here, that you want to use to spy on Hogwarts? How will that work again?"

It was Hermione who answered for her husband, placing her hands on her hips crossly and talking to Neville like he was on the Hogwarts Express again.

"We've told you twice," said Hermione bossily. "The subjects in paintings can _move_ between other portraits of themselves. We had one of Phineas Nigellus, who could take messages between his pictures at Hogwarts and a house Harry owns in London. We suspect the Fat Lady _must_ have had a portrait here, as it was her home. And if she did, we should be able to use it to get information from _inside_ Hogwarts."

"Assuming we can find it, and that the other picture is still there," said Harry. "It's a long shot, but one that I think is worth taking."

"Why are we searching like this, though?" asked Enola. "Why don't we just use an _Accio_?"

Hermione turned her cross expression to Harry, who had given the order to search for the picture in this way. He looked sheepishly at his angry wife.

"Oh…yeah. Good point. Sorry, guys."

Hermione huffed and shook her head. "_Honestly!"_

Harry drew his wand. "Accio…er…_Fat Lady picture_."

Nothing. Hermione gave him a pitying look that simply repeated her last word to him. Harry frowned at her.

"You do it then, if you're so clever," he hissed at her.

Hermione looked even crosser than usual. Harry wished he didn't find that look so cute. It was really hard to be angry with her when he so wanted to be. Hermione drew her own wand and rolled up her sleeve. Harry was forcibly reminded of something as she did it, but couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"_Accio Seren Gryffindor Portrait!"_

Harry groaned as a large picture flew to Hermione's hand. She caught it deftly, before grinning smugly as she offered it to Harry.

"Here you go, dear," she teased. He wrinkled his nose at her and she burst out laughing at his pouty face.

Harry considered the portrait. He recognised the location. It was the paddock out by the unicorn stables. There were more trees than were left now, and a rope-swing was hanging from one of them. Harry looked at it doubtfully…there was no way the Fat Lady of Gryffindor would be able to use that swing…she'd more likely pull the tree down if she tried.

"Er…excuse me…Seren Gryffindor? Is anyone there?"

Harry could hear whispers, movement but the picture remained empty. He looked up at Hermione.

"Any bright ideas on this one?"

"We knew there was a possibility the one at Hogwarts had been destroyed," Hermione replied sadly. "It was a good idea, honey, but we might just have to accept it -"

"Who are you? What do you want? And what are you doing with my favourite frame?"

Hermione was cut off. The voice was coming from the portrait in Harry's hands, and the woman who was speaking was just now stepping into view. Harry drew in a breath at the sight of her.

For she was _very_ pretty. Harry found himself blushing as she looked at him, smiling cutely. This was not the Fat Lady he knew so well. She was young, eighteen or nineteen maybe. Slim, vivacious and astoundingly attractive. She was wearing a pink silk dress, but it clung to her shapely figure and Harry found himself staring.

"Well, well…aren't you the gorgeous one?" Seren swooned. "Forgive my rudeness. _You_ can summon me whenever you like!"

Harry blushed harder, and Hermione scowled at the painting.

"Stop flirting with my husband!" Hermione snapped. She turned to Harry. "And _you…_stop enjoying it!"

Enola and Neville laughed behind them.

"You're Harry, I presume," said Seren, after frowning at Hermione.

"Yes. How do you know?" Harry replied.

"Because you are a near clone of James," said Seren. "Now _there_ was a boy who knew how to flirt. Until he went and got himself a bossy little witch, too."

"You knew my mum and dad?" asked Harry, astonished, as Hermione and Seren continued to glare at each other.

"Oh yes," said Seren simply. "James put this portrait up on his bedroom door when he was about sixteen, to keep his parents out. He wanted the prettiest picture he could find, so naturally he chose mine. He used to let me stay on the _inside_ part of his door, too…and we had such _naughty_ fun…until that little witch of his starting staying over and banned me from watching anything. She was such a spoilsport."

Harry smirked in astonishment. His dad must have been a randy fucker. At least he knew where he had inherited it from.

"But are you the same person who guards Gryffindor Tower?" asked Hermione, her jaw still firmly set in a scowl.

Seren's expression turned ugly. "I _used_ to be. Until those evil bastards took us all down and locked us in that horrible Chamber under the school. It _stinks_ down there. Stinks of dead basilisk and piss and shit. They haven't repaired the plumbing in years."

"Nice," said Harry, wrinkling his nose again.

"And to think," said Hermione, paling. "Ron wanted to kiss me in there. I should have seen that as a bad omen even then!"

Harry frowned at her. "Ron wanting to kiss you _anywhere_ should have given that game away. If only you'd thought to curse him for trying."

"If only _you'd_ cursed him when he actually _did,_" said Hermione fairly. "Or cursed _me,_ even…I think I initiated that first kiss."

"Is that grounds for a divorce?" Harry mused. "Abject stupidity?"

"But which one of us would file it?" asked Hermione. "I want half the house, but I'll let you live in the other half. I'm not so cruel and bitter as to make you homeless. So long as the family Vaults are in my half."

"Guys…" said Neville, gently.

"Sorry," Harry and Hermione chorused. Harry turned back to the portrait. "So, your other picture is still there."

"It is," Seren confirmed.

"How come you look different in that one?" Neville asked.

"I used to be like this," said Seren. "You can change to whatever age you like, as long as you've been drawn like it somewhere else. And I had this one done for my seventeenth birthday, and it was always my favourite. But I used to be too distracting for the boys at the school. There was a saying they used to have…_A straight Gryffindor is a late Gryffindor_…because the boys would always be late for class, if we were having a particularly good flirt.

"So, in the end, they asked me to change to the other picture when I was at the school. I was nearly dead when they drew that one. I'd had seven children and I lost count of how many grandchildren by that time. But it was more appropriate…though James always let me go back to this version when I was on his door. I miss James…he was so pretty."

"We need your help," said Harry. "We need to know about things that are going on at the school. And we were hoping you might help us."

"I don't see what I could do," said Seren. "In any case, I'm very busy. I'm meeting the druidess Cliodna and Anna - the mermaid from the Prefects bathroom - for drinks at Gregory the Smarmy's painting shortly. There's a newish painting that used to hang in the dungeons of Durmstrang, and he's going to be introducing us to this new drink that's all the rage over there. Something called a _jagerbomb_…sounds delightfully wicked."

"All we'd want you to do would be have a look around," said Harry. "Tell us what's happening there. Especially anything to do with Voldemort."

Even as a painting, Seren flinched. "That name…do not speak it. It is like acid to the ears."

"I'm going to kill him," said Harry easily. "I'm asking you to be part of how I do that. You're a Gryffindor…I know bravery is in your blood. As it's in mine."

Seren puffed up proudly. "I am my father's daughter on _that_ score, Harry Potter."

"Then help us."

"Very well," said Seren. "But I have to go now. I have my party to prepare for."

And with that, she slid gracefully from her frame, but not before flicking her hair sexily at Harry as she sashayed away. Hermione resumed her scowl at the canvas.

"That painting is getting _burned_ as soon as we are done with it," she hissed. "I'll do it myself."

Harry laughed at her.

"You know though," said Enola thoughtfully. "She's just done two things that _none_ of us can do."

"Which is what?" Neville quirked. "Flirt with Harry _and_ piss off Hermione and live to tell the tale of it?"

"Well, technically that's _three_ things, but okay," said Hermione, frowning. "Go on, En."

"Well, she's breached the wards of here _and_ Hogwarts, without having to fight an army or any of the stuff we are planning," Enola pointed out.

Harry and Hermione exchanged astonished looks. Neville just looked proudly at his wife.

"She's negated the wards -" said Harry.

"And by-passed Riddle's forces -" Hermione added.

"So there must be some sort of portal -"

"Between here and there -"

"And if we can find a way to open it up…" Harry breathed. "Seren!"

Seren eased back into the frame. She smiled sultrily at Harry. "Missing me already? You're so much like James. If you get rid of the others, I'll let you watch me get changed for my party."

For a moment, Harry was tempted. Until Hermione took the picture from him.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy little whore!" Hermione cried nastily.

"And _you're_ just like that Lily. But at least she _cursed_ me the first time I flirted with James. You need to get some backbone if you're going to be a proper Lady Potter."

Hermione went for her wand, perhaps to prove just how much of a Lady Potter she was, but Harry snatched the picture back from her.

"Look, Seren, can you just answer us a couple more questions?" asked Harry.

"Of course. My birthday is in March, my cup size is C, and my favourite wine is a nice rioja. Anything else?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, even after Hermione had poked him with her wand.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you knew anything about how these magical portraits work," said Harry. "Specifically, how you can move between yours."

"Well that's an easy one," Seren smiled. "Pictures were the first Portkeys. They only went to fixed locations, though, which had to be drawn accurately in the paintings. They were like gateways which is why, later on, they became useful for security. When I was on the Tower, for example, it was just a wall behind me. If there isn't the right kind of portrait there, the Common Room can't be accessed. _I_ created the round portal. I can do it anywhere."

Harry and Hermione just gasped at each other.

"Can…can you do it now?" Harry breathed.

"For _you_, gorgeous…I'll do _anything,_" Seren purred.

Seren pulled on the side of her frame, which swung open to reveal a dark, dank space. That horrendous smell hit their nostrils. Harry took a steeling look at the others, and drew his wand. They nodded in firm agreement…then followed him through the portal.

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets was much as Harry remembered it, albeit with a pile of portraits now stacked off to one side. The corpse of the giant snake was long gone, but the aroma of its rotting flesh had left a a mark on the place. And it was a mark that was singularly disgusting.

"Right. We need a battle plan," said Harry.

"Whatever it is, don't even consider splitting up," Hermione warned. "We all stick together, no matter what."

"Agreed," said Enola.

"Well, at least that's settled," Neville grinned.

"We can't kill Riddle here," said Harry. "We can't let his soul escape justice. We have to get him back to my Ritual Room…end his sorry existence there."

"He should be easy enough to Stun," said Neville. "He has no magic, does he? Any of us can do him."

"Yeah, but we are here to capture, not kill. Just remember that," said Harry. "The biggest problem is going to be a moral dilemma."

"How so?" asked Hermione. "If we see a Death Eater, we kill them. Seems fairly straight forward to me."

"And if that Death Eater is a twelve-year-old second year?" Harry asked pointedly. "Don't make any mistakes - Hogwarts is nothing more than a military academy these days. And these kids will likely be prepared to attack on sight. What if they do?"

"I say the same applies," Hermione shrugged.

"Min…"

"What? We want these kids to grow up as our allies…but we _cannot_ allow them to grow up as our _enemies."_

The truth of Hermione's words fell like a dense shroud on them all. No one could agree verbally, could vocalise this darkest of truths. But they all shared this grim understanding. A series of solemn nods sealed this covenant between them.

"Okay." said Harry eventually, his words heavy and leaden. "But lets make this as quick and clean as possible. Where is Riddle likely to be?"

"Pity we don't have your dad's old map," said Hermione ruefully. "That would have made this a lot easier."

"I'll remember it for the next Dark Lord I have to come to Hogwarts to kill," said Harry waspishly. He immediately felt ashamed for his sassy outburst. "Sorry."

"Well, I know he isn't the Headmistress," said Hermione. "Old Dolores Umbridge got _that_ job. So we can rule out the Head's private chambers."

"And I wouldn't imagine he'd fancy bunking down in his old Slytherin dorms with a bunch of first-years," said Neville.

"And, think about it," said Enola. "If he's lost his magic, he's probably holed himself up somewhere that can do things he wants _without_ it."

"And a place he could hide -" said Harry, thinking fast.

"Or get _lost_," said Hermione, cottoning on.

"The Room of Requirement!" Neville cried. "That brass-balled device. It takes some truly inspired thinking to create a room that will literally do whatever the fuck you need it to. Got a problem? Turn to the good old RoR!"

"The only thing about a secret room is that it becomes pretty shitty hiding place…once the secret gets out," said Harry. "Come on."

Harry led the way to door of the Chamber, whispering a Parseltongue command for it to open. The large, circular portal obeyed, swinging wide to reveal a marble staircase spiralling up to the disused girl's bathroom.

"This is new," said Harry, mounting the stairs slowly. "I suppose they had to put in access to make it a storage space."

"Harry! Wait!" said Hermione. "What about security up here? Tracking charms, proximity spells…the sorts of things we saw at Godric's Hollow?"

"I'm kind of hoping Tom's overlooked that," said Harry. "I understand this place has become fairly hellish. You don't get detention for being out of bed. You get manacled up and whipped. It's conditioning Min…fear will keep the kids in line."

They soon found themselves in the bathroom. The toilet stalls were dank and dusty, the wooden doors hanging from their hinges. It hadn't been used any more recently than for a couple of above-average second years brewing illegal Polyjuice Potion. Harry smiled at the memory.

The corridors were dark and draughty. Autumn tended to arrive more quickly in the Scottish Highlands than the Welsh valleys, and the chilly winds swept up from the Great Lake and coasted silent and icy through the school. Harry led the way through this, the route still imprinted on his memory. If he closed his eyes, he was fifteen again, sneaking past the Inquisitorial Squads to a DA meeting. If he was lucky, Hermione might give him an encouraging smile for a session well managed…

They even had their regular nemesis to contend with.

"Well, well, students out of bed. Aren't we in tr -"

But Argus Filch could say no more. Harry had reacted with his military instinct, flicking a blasting hex right at the wheezy old Squib's chest. It punched a tubular hole right through the papery flesh, from breastbone to spine. Harry looked at it for a surreal moment, to see the flash of a cat's eyes through Filch's gaping wound. Hermione and Enola reacted in tandem, Stunning the ancient cat with enough potency in their spells to stop its heart.

Filch looked down at the hole in his chest. "I always _hated_ you kids..."

And with that, he fell down, dead as stone.

"We were never too fond of you, either," said Neville. "Hell of a shot, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry replied. "Come on, Nev. Grab the body with me. There's a broom closet we can stash it in round the corner. One of you girls grab Mrs Norris. If you didn't kill her, snap her neck."

Enola took the duty of picking up the cat. There was a snap that pieced the still air of the corridor. Enola looked up unabashed.

"What? It's better to be safe than sorry."

"You know what, Nev…I love _both_ our wives," said Harry, smirking.

"Yep," Neville agreed. "They'll kill kids and kitties. What's not to love?"

They stored the first corpses of their invasion and moved on. The classroom floors were silent. Harry reasoned everyone must be eating or in dorms. But then, he realised, there was nothing to suggest that routines would be anything like the same as when he'd been a pupil. A fact slammed home when they turned a corner and got a glimpse of the main courtyard, though an ornamental arch on the tower staircase.

"Harry…" Hermione hissed lowly. "Look at that!"

And he did. There were lines of students, maybe twenty rows of twenty , and they were engaged in undoubted military drills. Harry knew, for he'd done similar for the ZGD. Even the drill was the same - _squat, push-up, spell_ \- obliterating wooden targets at the end of the courtyard. The sound of splintering wood chilled Harry to the bone.

These kids were _good_.

"Come on," Harry urged, and pushed them back along the corridor.

Their first real obstacle came as they reached the corridor where the Room of Requirement could be found. Two guards, at the top of the shallow stairwell between floors. These were elite Death Eaters, Tom Riddle's personal security. Easily identifiable by their acid green battle robes._ The Green Shirts_, they were known as, or the GS. Hardcore fanatics that were highly-trained in combat magic, led the divisions of the Section Seven secret police, and put Tom Riddle's life before that of their own children.

And they fired first, hitting Enola with a hex that separated her shoulder. She shrieked at the pain and Neville fired off several angry curses in reply. Hermione rushed to Enola as she crumpled, the pain threatening to overwhelm her. But one of the GS guards fired a Killing Curse at her. Harry smashed into Hermione with his shoulder, pushing her clear.

Then he responded to the fool who'd threatened his wife.

A slicing jinx to sever his wand arm, a blinding hex, and a body-bind spell so fierce they could all hear the sickening crack of bone, as the guard's pelvis shattered. He didn't have time to scream, as Harry flicked an angry chain incendio spell at him, burning his flesh to ash it passed through him.

Harry's furious magic pulsed out of him, holding the other guard frozen as it swelled in the narrow stairwell. The delay allowed Neville to charge forward, where he gripped the guard by the shoulder and cast powerful spike jinx into his throat. The guard looked up in shock, as blood bubbles popped at the corner of his mouth. Neville just held him firm, shaking with his rage, his eyes fixed angrily to the guards' until the last of his life drained from him.

Then he just let his body fold to the floor at his feet.

"Ennie," Harry cried. He raced to her limp form where Hermione was cradling her.

"She passed out from the pain," Hermione explained.

"It's probably better that way," said Harry. "She wont feel the healing spell nearly as much."

Harry cast silently, quickly, watching the unnatural way Enola's arm clicked back into its socket. It was a sickening sight.

"Should we wake her?" Hermione asked.

Harry frowned. "She'll probably scream the castle down when the pain hits. Wait here."

"No! I said we aren't splitting up!" Hermione hissed.

"I'm just checking the corridor," said Harry, who leapt up and away before Hermione could do anything about it. Harry peered around the corner. "It's clear. The Room is ten feet away. There may be guards at the other end but we can get in and out before they'd be able to get here."

"Hermione, go with Harry," said Neville. "I'll stay here with Ennie. Take Riddle down, and we'll escape together."

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating between thoughts.

"Love, we have to do this," said Harry. "The GS guards could have had a secret alert, or be on a shift pattern. This is our chance…we _have _to take it."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "Okay."

She scrambled up and joined Harry, and together they stole out from the stairwell and crept along the corridor. There were no guards…the way was clear…Harry felt a thrill of expectation. They were going to do it, finally, after all this time.

Hermione finally realised the same, as they came to a halt in front of that familiar patch of wall.

"Do it, sweetheart, go get him. I'll stand watch."

Harry swept in and kissed her on the mouth, deep and powerful. "I so should have done that here _years_ ago."

Hermione grinned. "When we liberate the school, we'll christen all the rooms with kisses. Now _go_!"

Harry did as he was told. He took a breath, then walked back and forth along that small patch of corridor.

"_Show us the place where Riddle is hiding…Show us the place where Riddle is hiding…Show us the place were Riddle is hiding…"_

And a door with a serpentine knocker materialised in the wall. Hermione turned and gasped at it.

"Ready?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded, gripping her wand tight, as it was vibrating with so much force it threatened to fly from her fingers. "_Alohomora_!"

The door swung open and Harry and Hermione burst in.

The room was a surprisingly simple affair. A plain, unimaginative study. There was a roaring fire and a few trinkets in a glass-fronted cabinet next to the window; there was a large bureau-cum-desk and a single chair behind it. The man sat in it looked up, held frozen by the surprise appearance of uninvited guests in his private space…his slit-like eyes too shocked to react…

"Hello, Tom…_Expelliarmus!"_

The Elder Wand soared to Harry's hand as Tom Riddle was knocked to his feet by the force of the spell. Then…

"_Stupefy!"_

Hermione's Stunner was so powerful it slammed Riddle back into the cabinet, shattering the glass, before he slumped unconscious to the floor. Harry raced to him, and began to haul him to his feet.

"Use _magic,_ Harry!" Hermione implored.

"Oh yeah," Harry grinned. "I knew I'd brought you along for a reason."

Harry hoisted Riddle into the air with a hovering charm.

"I'll lead, you keep an eye on the rear," said Hermione, holding open the door.

"You don't have to tell me to keep an eye on _your rear_," said Harry, smirking. "Move, quickly now."

And she did, hurrying along the corridor with Tom Riddle's motionless form behind her. They re-entered the stairwell.

"Yes!" Neville cried, punching the air in delight. "You've got him!"

"Now just have to get him out," said Harry. "Nev - cast a silencing spell on Ennie then wake her up. We need to move as fast as possible."

Neville obeyed the order, and they all watched for a rather funny minute as Enola stirred, felt the pain, screamed, then huffed as no sound came out. She looked around crossly, then rotated her shoulder to absorb the discomfort. Then she motioned to her mouth and Neville restored her voice.

"You did it!" she whispered.

"Yeah," Hermione grinned. "You okay?"

"My shoulder hurts like a bitch," Enola moaned. "Shotgun going up front. I need some vengeance."

So they ranged in position - Enola and Hermione leading, Neville covering their retreat, with Harry hovering Riddle in the centre of it. They hurried down corridors as quickly as they could…two unknown teachers left a classroom, and Enola cursed them so fiercely they were knocked out as their heads hit solid brick…they made it to the third floor, down to the second…the bathroom was dead ahead…then…

"Intruders! Second floor corridor!"

A group of students, perhaps six or seven of them, were marching up the staircase near the bathroom. It was a narrow, stone construction, only wide enough for two students at a time. The two groups met, and locked eyes on each other…then all made for their wands.

But Hermione Potter reached hers first, casting a powerful blasting hex at the stone steps, which disintegrated under the force of the spell. Harry and the others just watched on, as the students suddenly vanished in a cloud of dust and rubble, hurling curses until they hit the floor below with an almighty crash. All was quiet for ten seconds…until pandemonium erupted.

But it was too late for the Death Eaters. Enola and Hermione led the way through into the bathroom, down the steps to the Chamber of Secrets, which Neville blew up behind him as he took the last leap from the staircase. Harry sealed the Chamber with a hiss of Parseltongue. Hermione summoned Seren, the portal reopened, and they dragged Tom Riddle though to his prison in the Ritual Room of the Blue Palace…where he would finally face the justice of the Potters.


	23. The Justice of the Potters

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry stalked in an angry circle around Tom Riddle's still-limp form, now suspended between the champagne-coloured bars of magic that served as his cage. He just wanted to look at him, weak and helpless and under Harry's mercy, of which - naturally - there was none to be had. He imagined all the horrors he'd committed, all the trespasses he had brought against Harry and his family.

And Harry Potter decided just how he was going to rip Lord Voldemort's body to pieces.

Harry's anger was something else. Even the powerful containment runes and alchemical symbols were struggling to hold it in. Neville had activated the emergency syphon, which re-directed Harry's furious magic into the ley lines beneath the house to dissipate it that way. But even this was nearing capacity. Harry had simply never been this concentrated in his rage.

Twenty-two years of hatred was just pouring out of him. It thrummed and heaved as powerful as any magic he could conjure in ritual. Having the source of it right there was mindlessly overwhelming. The store of negative energy Harry had been harbouring for this evil wizard was now bursting from the seams, but the potential of the explosion was too dangerous to ignore.

Hermione went to him, braved the cyclone of enraged power that was obscuring Harry from view, as if it were her right. It submitted to her in like fashion. Harry was red-faced, sweaty, his chest rising with heavy, bitter breaths. Hermione placed her hand to him, closed her eyes, and matched her breathing to be in rhythm with his. Then she pushed her calming force along their marital bond…commanding him to be still.

And, with a shuddering sag of his entire body, Harry obeyed.

"Hey…you need to control this," she whispered softly. "We are building for a life _after_ Riddle…don't destroy our beautiful home on _his_ account."

Harry smiled weakly. "Sorry. I'll try to rein it in. It's just…"

"I know, I know…" she breathed, pressing her forehead to his. "Just get it done, sweetheart. Talk to me…tell me how this will work."

"Narcissa is going to use a Soul Rend spell," said Harry. "It will literally _rip_ Riddle's soul from his body. It's from the same family of magic as Horcrux creation, but Cissa has always bordered on the _grey_ in such terms so she's more than willing."

"I could do that…"

"No," Harry snapped. "I don't want you anywhere near that bastard's soul. Or this procedure at all. He had a link to you once - his soul might try to latch onto you once his body is destroyed."

"So, how are you going to keep Riddle's soul grounded when you kill him? You can't let him escape."

"I wont," said Harry. "We need to use little Celesca one last time. My family have created a link to me…from _beyond. _Celesca needs to tap into me again, open up a rift in the link, then Cissa can sling Riddle's soul into it. My family will do the rest from the other side of the Veil."

"And his body?" asked Hermione.

"I've decided to go for a _mauling_," said Harry. "Magic is too easy. I want to _feel_ him dying beneath my claws."

"I wish I could transform with you," said Hermione, ruefully. "I think I'd quite like, too."

"I know Riddle has violated you, hurt you," said Harry. "You want revenge, as much as everyone else he's hurt.

"But this is _uniquely_ _personal_ for me_._ I wont allow anyone to take this cunt's life but me. Sorry to be selfish…but he's _mine_."

Hermione nodded in solemn acquiescence. "Is there anything I _can_ do?"

"Talk to Fan and Ann," said Harry. "They know of a special Shield Wall Charm that will block literally _anything_. Ghosts, humans, _weather_. Create a powerful shield to protect Celesca. Riddle might try to leech onto her, too. Get Luna and Ennie involved to give it strength."

"I can do that," said Hermione. She leaned in, and placed a chaste kiss to Harry's mouth. "I'll let you know when we're ready. I love you."

"I love you," Harry echoed, then watched his wife disappear though his anger cyclone. Then he turned to Tom Riddle. "_Rennervate."_

Riddle opened his eyes slowly, the pupils sliding into their slits through snake-like hoods. He looked in fury at his captor, then struggled fruitlessly against his binds.

"Potter!" he spat.

"You still _remember_, Tom," said Harry lightly. "I cannot help but be touched. I, of course, remember _you_."

"Release me!"

"Honestly? That's the best you can come up with? Of course…I'll just let my mortal enemy free because he _asks_ me to!"

"Release me…and I will make your death painless," Riddle hissed.

"Your threats carried more weight when you had this," said Harry, twirling the Elder Wand like a conductors baton. "Of course, you also had _magic_ then, not that you were able to kill me with that, either. What's it like…being _ordinary?"_

"Fuck you, Potter!" said Riddle angrily.

"Now, now, language, Tom," Harry admonished. "My wife's present over there. She doesn't need to hear your gutter mouth."

Riddle snarled. "I'll _gut he_r, too, when I get out of here."

Harry moved closer, speaking low and dangerous. "Now _that_ wasn't very nice. In fact, it was spectacularly dumb. I thought I'd sent you enough messages of what happens to people who threaten my wife. You just _never _learn, do you? I will eek out your pain for every _syllable_ of threat you've just uttered against her…oh, and the only way you're getting out of my little cage is in a body bag."

Tom Riddle tried to move again, but the runes held him fast.

"How do you like my advances in the use of ritual magic?" Harry asked conversationally. "I've been working ever so hard on it. I thought someone like you might appreciate it, especially after my mum and dad kicked your sorry arse so comprehensively the last time you came across runic magic this impressive."

"Potter…we are not so unalike…I could overlook all your crimes against me…we could rule as a team…you would be second only to me in the new order."

"You, sir, are in a position to offer me _nothing_," Harry laughed. "I have _all_ the power in this dynamic. And I fully intend to use it. I just wanted you to know who it was that had beaten you…who it was that was going to violently take apart all you've tried to build. The Death Eaters are finished, Tom. You'll just be a chapter in history, easily skimmed over because, in the end, you achieved _nothing…_you are _nothing._"

Just then Hermione appeared at Harry's side. "Hey, Tom," she said conversationally. "Nice cage. Harry, honey…we're ready."

"You!" Riddle hissed. "You're to blame for all this…fascinating me with your new magic…I will hunt your soul in the next world."

"That's _two_ threats against me now, isn't it, Harry?" said Hermione thoughtfully. "Is he just utterly thick, or what?"

"Looks like it," Harry agreed.

"He just doesn't understand us Potters at all, does he?" said Hermione, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "Rip him apart, lover."

Hermione wrapped her hand around the back of Harry's neck and drew his lips forcefully to hers, tongues duelling fiercely. There was something about killing bad guys that stirred a feral hotness in the both of them. They would have to re-cast the bedroom wards to offset _this_.

"Shout to me when the Shield is up," said Harry. Then he called out. "Cissa? Little Cesc? Are you ladies ready?"

"We are," Narcissa called back.

"We can hold the shield for ages, honey," said Hermione, darkly. "Don't make this _quick_."

Harry grinned at her, kissed her one more time and smacked her pert arse as she flounced away from him. He rather thought she'd been taking lessons from Seren Gryffindor on style and form.

"Right, Tom," said Harry. "Time to die."

"A curse on you, Potter," Riddle raged back.

"We tried it once that way, buddy, are you game for a rematch?" Harry taunted. "Tom…I'm laughing at you. Just know that. You want to know _how_ you're going to be butchered? How I'm going to draw it out for your snake-bothering carcass, just for your empty, dirty words to my witch? Observe…the tool of your destruction."

And Harry partially transformed his hand into a huge paw, drawing the dagger-sharp claws right to Riddle's face.

Riddle's bowels and bladder emptied as he soiled himself. The stench hit Harry hard in the nostrils.

"Good, good," said Harry angrily. "I'm glad you knew true fear at the end. Goodbye, Tom. Consider this our prophecy _fulfilled."_

Then, in one movement, Harry wordlessly cancelled the cage and transformed into his full lion form. He slashed that huge paw across Riddle's torso, slicing just shallow enough for his intestines to spew out but not enough to kill him. Riddle let out a high-pitched screech and fell to the floor, trying in vain to gather up his exposed organs and force them back in.

And Harry pounced, crashing a powerful shoulder into Riddle's chest, roaring in triumph as a few ribs cracked on the impact. Riddle rolled to the floor and spat out blood. A shard of rib had punctured his lung, which was slowly filling with his black blood. Harry stalked to him and began slashing relentlessly to Riddle's face. Blood flashed from the lacerations, covering Harry's fur and creating a huge pool around Riddle's head.

Then Harry bit him, taking a chunk of face away in his powerful teeth. Riddle was exposed to the bone, and parts of the upper jaw were now missing. Harry spat them back into Riddle's broken face. Then he moved down, slicing him artfully from chin to belly button. Riddle screamed from inside his throat, as Harry ripped the flesh from his upper body. He stood over Riddle, breathing angrily, and let out a loud, guttural roar.

It was the signal to Narcissa. It was time.

Harry felt the Soul Rend spell pass over him, and then dug a powerful paw into Riddle's chest, cutting and slashing with his claws till he cut out the evil heart. He lifted it clear, looked down into Riddle's eyes again…then tore the heart to pieces as Riddle's life expired in front of him.

He gave one last, blood-bubbled breath…then the Dark Wizard know as Voldemort was no more. And Harry tore the body angrily to pieces in a flurry of sharp-clawed attacks.

Harry felt Riddle's soul leave his body. The runes on the chamber walls, designed for the purpose, tracked its movement. Harry became a wizard again as the soul fragment shot away at speed, in a last, desperate effort to find a new host. Harry watched it bounce from the Shield Charm before a shaft of silvery magic shot out and held it fast.

"I've got him, Harry!" Narcissa called. "But will you take him quick…he's _very_ ugly."

"Celesca! Are you ready, honey?"

"I am," she called back. "Open your mind, Master Harry."

He did as he was told, feeling Celesca's gently magic crawl along the link to him, before disappearing through the Veil Arch. Seconds later it returned. And it wasn't alone.

"Mum! Dad!" Harry cried, embracing them, as they ran to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Finishing what we started all those years ago," said James.

"Just hold on a few more seconds, sweetheart," said Lily, cupping his face lovingly. "You've been so brave!"

"It's nearly over," said James. "Direct Narcissa to give us that Dark Bastards' soul…and we'll deliver him to Purgatory."

Lily drew out a series of containment runes in the air with her finger. "When we fought him, we set specific runes into each trap," Lily explained. "It was all for this moment. These will link to the runes we cast into his soul…so he wont _ever_ escape."

"I love you, Mum…Dad," said Harry, his voice cracking as tears began to fall. "Cissa…send him to me."

The soul fragment moved closer, Harry felt Celesca open a gap in their link…and suddenly the spectral form of Riddle was standing before them, on the same astral plane as Lily and James. But before Harry had a chance to react, the runes Lily had drawn clamped around Riddle like a cage. He was bound tightly, and James bundled him bodily back towards the Veil.

Then Tom Riddle was gone for good.

"Is…is it done? Really done?" asked Harry, his voice almost childlike. He felt bone-weary at fighting Tom Riddle…he just wanted it to be over.

"It's done," said Lily, smiling. Tears shone on her, too. She leant forward and kissed Harry ghostly on his cheek. "When I go through, destroy this Arch. It's doesn't do to dwell on the dead and forget to live."

"I will," said Harry. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you, too, my brave, brave boy. Now…go and be a proper husband to that great girl you've got out there…and a great father, too…you only have _nine months_ to prepare for that!"

Harry grinned widely as his jaw dropped, his heart swelling with so much emotion he felt light-headed a moment. He watched his mother give one last wave…then step back through the arch. Harry drew his wand…and blasted it to a thousand pieces behind her.

Then there was an explosion of sound, as all the assembled audience broke out in uncontainable euphoria. Hermione raced to Harry first, clobbering him in a bear hug that literally knocked him flat. He rolled over, laughing and kissed her deeply. Then Celesca leapt on him, yelling _'We did it! We did it!" _He hugged her deeply and she peppered his cheek with shy little kisses.

"You were _so_ brave!" Harry cooed to her. "You're my heroine, do you know that?"

"I love you, Master Harry," Celesca sang, snuggling him tightly. "I'm so happy you're my Godfather…you're better than _any_ sort of father I could ever have."

"I love you too, honey," said Harry. "But just call me '_Harry' _from now on. None of this _'master'_ stuff. Okay?"

"Okay."

Then Harry was being pulled to his feet and Neville was nearly breaking his ribs with the force to his hug, thumping him on the back in triumph. Then Harry was passed to Enola, who threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fully on the mouth. He was too surprised to pull away, but he looked at her very embarrassed when they finally broke apart.

"Min said I could, just once," said Enola, blushing madly.

"I…er…I…okay," Harry stumbled, and Hermione suddenly was drawing him back to her with another deep kiss, including licking Enola's lip gloss from his own mouth.

_"_Just so you don't forget who you're _supposed_ to be kissing," Hermione breathed sultrily. "That was just because it's a special occasion. Cherry, En? Nice."

"Why wasn't I consulted about any of this wife-sharing business?" Neville quirked. "Do I get to kiss Hermione as compensation?"

"No," Harry, Hermione and Enola said in unison. Then Enola leapt into Neville's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and engaging in a tongue war with him.

"You get my proper kisses," said Enola breathily, as Neville set her on her feet. "That was just a peck, really."

"It's fine," said Neville, grinning at Harry. "If I was going to let him into a threesome, I suppose kissing is the least I should allow!"

"What's a _threesome_?" asked Celesca, curiously.

Harry laughed and lifted her into his arms. He looked at her seriously. "Not something you'll need to know about for a _long_ time, Miss."

"I say celebratory drinks are in order," said Myfanwy, as she and Angharad joined the party, arms wrapped around each other. "There's that new sauvingon blanc the elves have been making…I say we drink the palace dry!"

"Harry!" Patrick O'Brien called from the back of the room. "Permission to transport your vat of cider to the dining room for this shin-dig?"

"Granted!" said Harry, grinning. "We are all going to get _rat-arsed_ tonight. That's an order."

"What's rat-arsed?" asked Celesca.

"In old breweries rats used to get into the barrels where the beer was being made," said Harry. "They'd drown in the drink and be found with their bums sticking up." Celesca giggled at that. "And now…we're going to drown in drink, too!"

"And then, tomorrow," said Hermione, coming up to Harry and sliding her arm around his waist, where it helped to support Celesca's weight. "We are going to hunt down my ex-husband and give him the worst hangover in history."

Harry laughed at that and hugged his two favourite girls close. "Yes we are."

"_Then_ you'd better start thinking about shopping," said Celesca seriously. She looked at Harry, and they shared a flare of knowledge. She asked for unspoken permission, which Harry gave with a nod.

"Shopping? For what?" asked Hermione.

"A cot, for a start. And maybe a pushchair. Ooh, and lots of toys. I can help you pick, if you like, so long as you buy me a toy for helping."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and Harry wrapped his arm around her fully to rub her belly. They shared watery looks and deep smiles.

"My mum…" Harry whispered by way of explanation.

Hermione slid her hand over Harry's, massaging her womb…her _occupied_ womb.

"You okay?" he asked, gently.

"Okay! I'm better than okay! I'm…_perfect._"

"Come on, I need that drink!" said Harry, kissing Hermione again, and leading the way to the best party the palace had ever held.

* * *

The party lasted for fully two days. So, some seventy-two hours after the death of Tom Riddle, and with some _very_ sore heads, Harry, Hermione and Narcissa were to be found sat around the breakfast room, drinking strong coffee and discussing their two-pronged attack. Narcissa was going to head to London, to oversee the progress of the clean-up operation. She was taking Sir David Pincott, who was a member the Muggle House of Lords as well as a powerful wizard, and it was through he that information had been splashed across the Muggle media about the lies told by Lucius Malfoy.

That had sparked an immediate reaction, as they'd just learned from Frank Longbottom, who had been monitoring the Wizarding Wireless network. Lucius had fled London the previous night, no doubt aware of Voldemort's abduction. But he hadn't made it far.

For he had been gunned down by an SAS task force as he tried to escape from the Port of Dover. It was headline news in both the magic and Muggle worlds.

"It will be a source of some chagrin to my husband that he was killed by a Muggle bullet," said Narcissa, nursing another espresso. "It will irritate him for the duration of his afterlife."

"I say that's just a bonus win," said Harry. "No offence…but your husband was a prick."

"None taken," said Narcissa. "We can't all be as lucky in our marriages as you two. But he served a purpose. And now that purpose has passed, it is fitting that he does, too."

"Cold as ice," said Hermione. "A witch worthy of song."

Narcissa inclined her head in gratitude, then frowned as it reignited her headache.

"So, what will you do in London?" asked Harry. "It will be dangerous…you need to have a clear plan."

"Well, first we'll head with you two to Ottery St Catchpole," said Narcissa. "Luna can take us to her old house. If _The Quibbler_ printing press is still there, we'll create a brief new edition, educating the world about Tom Riddle's demise. Then, when you and Hermione head for The Burrow, we'll use Luna's old Unspeakable access route to enter the Ministry of Magical Governance. We'll make our way to the Offices of Magical Communication, take over the WWN and make our broadcast, whilst distributing the magazine via direct-mail Floo."

"It's a high risk strategy," said Harry. "I really think you should take more people with you."

Narcissa shook her head. "We have friends inside the Ministry. They know we're coming. We'll alert them when we arrive…they have a diversion planned. It promises to throw the place into chaos. As a small team we can exploit that. A bigger group would just make us an easier target."

"You're already going to be a fairly easy target," Hermione pointed out. "Your name and face are only trending second to Harry's own at this point…in both worlds."

"I can take care of myself," said Narcissa. "I'll have Sir David and Luna to start with, too, then we will have support once our rabble rousing begins. We have friends everywhere, Harry…they just need to know now is the time to rise up."

"Help will always be given to those Gryffindors who ask for it," said Hermione, staunchly. "I never knew, Cissa."

"Let's just say it's hard to be red and gold…with a black mark on your arm," said Narcissa. "But people will flock to our banner now."

"I hope you're right," said Harry. "But you'll have support in London if you need it. I'm sending Fan and Ann on a sight-seeing trip. The Tower of London is a _must-see_…especially if the revolution starts today."

A few hours later and a temporary Portkey flashed into the air on top of Stoatshead Hill, in the small village of Ottery St Catchpole. The two parties that emerged with it separated with messages of good luck; Narcissa, Luna and Sir David headed down one side of the hill, while Harry and Hermione began the short stroll to the Burrow. They had used Hermione's old wedding ring to gauge Ron's location, and were hardly surprised to find him holed up at his family home.

Destroying both he and _it_ promised to be a cathartic experience for both the Potters.

They walked together hand-in-hand for some minutes in comfortable, companiable silence, each lost in their own focused thoughts. Harry's were dual-natured; the violent demolition of what had once been a safe-house to the needy and desperate, perverted to evil by the Galleon-grabbing youngest Weasleys. And, of course, Hermione's decimation of the said last surviving member of that fucking twat of a family. That was the only thing on _her_ mind, and Harry could sense the dark anticipation rolling off her in angry waves.

"You all set?" Harry asked quietly.

"I am," said Hermione. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

"No fear? No concerns?"

"Fear?" Hermione scoffed. "I'm with _you_, honey. I'm never afraid of anything when you're by my side. It's disgustingly needy to admit that, but there it is. And the only concern I have is that this will be over too easily and I wont be satisfied by it."

"We're likely to find him literally insane," Harry pointed out. "He might not be in any state to put up much of a fight. Perhaps I should have left him intact for you."

"No, I'm pleased that he's been suffering like this," said Hermione. "You've destroyed his mind for me. That accounts for the psychological trauma I suffered. Now, I'm going to hurt his body. It will be a complete job."

They stopped talking as the perimeter of The Burrow came into view. It soon became clear that protections were in place. There was a strong ward, and a ring of defensive jewels surrounding the door. Harry looked at Hermione.

"Lets take out the ward first. Concentrate your most powerful offensive spells at a point just over the gate. I'll do the same, and we'll overpower the ward. On three…"

And three seconds later, the power of the Potters began the final assault on the Weasleys.

Harry and Hermione fired off spell after spell. The protective ward shimmered and trembled under the combined power hitting it. The shield flashed in a rainbow of colours, dissipating the magical impacts, until finally it gave in and cracked under the force of Hermione's last spell. She grinned at Harry.

"I win," she sang.

"I weakened it for you," Harry bitched.

"It's not a jar of pickles, Harry," Hermione laughed. "But thanks for your contribution."

Harry huffed, then swept his wand in a violent arc. A wave of ridiculously potent energy burst out from it…and the protection gems shattered, as the front of the Burrow was reduced to rubble.

"Show off," Hermione winked. Then her face dropped. "Watch out!"

She flicked a push spell at him, sending him toppling to the ground as an acid green spell tail whizzed past, horrendously close to his head. Hermione looked to the upper floors of the house…and saw that hated ginger-haired face taking aim at Harry again.

"_Protego_!" Hermione cried, throwing up a powerful barrier over Harry, before flicking a spell in Ron's direction as he cast one himself. The spells collided in mid-air, exploding with enough force to shatter the window frame Ron was leaning out from. He yelped and cried as shards of wood and glass pierced his skin. Harry leapt to his feet.

"You're far too distracting, you know," he laughed at Hermione. "He nearly actually _hit_ me. The shame. Come on, looks like there might be some fun in this after all."

And the Potters raced forward to the house. They met Ron on the stairs, where he was babbling nonsense.

"No, Mum, I don't have Spattergoit," he was saying. "And I don't have tinsel on my face…and I know Ginny isn't bring casserole for breakfast…stop _LYING!"_

Then he started firing off spells in a dangerously random fashion. Harry pulled Hermione to the safety of the kitchen, as Ron's spells smashed walls and splintered the handrail of the staircase.

"He's going to kill_ himself_ at this rate!" Harry cried, as Ron continued his hazardous casting at unseen enemies.

"Oh no…he doesn't get off that easily!" Hermione fumed. She peered carefully back towards the stairs, and took aim with her wand. She fired a blasting hex, shattering Ron's kneecaps. He shrieked in sickening agony, then fell down the stairs in a series of loud thuds.

Harry took the opportunity and raced out, snatching up Ron's wand where it had fallen from his hand. He snapped it in half, and threw the useless pieces away, as Hermione came up behind with her own wand drawn. She tucked it behind her ear, hauled Ron to his broken knees…then drove one of her own into his face. He yelped again, and fell away as blood flowed out from his smashed nose.

"Nice," said Harry approvingly. "May I?"

"Be my guest," said Hermione.

Harry flicked two, mid-level impact hexes at Ron's shoulders, breaking them to pieces. His arms fell limp and pointless to his sides, as he groaned against yet another wave of searing pain.

"Can we finish this here?" asked Hermione, kicking Ron in the face just for the hell of it. "I was going to kill him back at the palace, but I've decided that I don't want his stain anywhere near our home. Can you trap his soul without the ritual room?"

"Yeah, I've prepared the time-turner," said Harry. "It's stocked full of all the worst horrors I could draw from my mind and yours. All I have to do is deliver Ron into it…then he'll live those horrors for eternity as though he'd endured them in life, himself."

"Good," said Hermione, smirking wickedly. "I'll do my bit then. Just be ready with your soul trap."

Hermione drew her wand again, and stripped Ron's blood-soaked jeans from his body. She knelt down, pointed her wand at Ron's tiny, shrivelled penis…then roughly sliced it off. Ron screamed so high-pitched Harry wondered how the glass in the windows hadn't cracked.

Hermione ignored Ron screeches and continued her work. She showed off her transfiguration skills, engorging the severed organ until it was nine-feet tall. Then she conjured some of the wood shards from the shattered staircase handrail, transforming them into a sharp, vicious-looking spike. She fused the spike with the tip of the giant penis, nodding in approval at her own work.

She turned to Ron, who was very pale due to his massive blood loss. She scowled at the sight. "Remember this, you ginger tosser?…_swish and flick_."

Hermione cast the levitation charm, hoisting Ron into the air, lining up his rectum with the tip of the spike.

"I'm going to enjoy this," said Hermione. "_Fuck you, Ron!"_

And Hermione released the spell. Even Harry winced as Ron's body slipped down onto the spike. There were simply no words to describe the horrendous noises he made, as he was slowly pieced internally. Harry didn't really watch Ron, but focused on Hermione, and the deep satisfaction she showed as their one-time friend slowly died before them.

It took nearly an hour for the spike to come out from Ron's mouth. Hermione wouldn't let him slip too fast, occasionally hoisting him back up if gravity tried to defy her thirst for satisfaction. Eventually, though, she allowed the spike to pierce Ron's throat, as Harry ripped his soul clean before it could escape, trapping it in his modified time-turner.

"I'm done with this one," said Hermione bitterly, as Ron's last breath choked out from him. "Come on, Harry, I have a job for you."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Show me that chain fireball spell you do again," said Hermione. "I want to watch this place burn."

"As you wish, my Lady," said Harry, grinning. "Lets just set _this_ in motion."

Harry held up the time-turner, then span it forcefully. He wondered vaguely which horrific memory Ron would suffer first; maybe he would configure his ritual chamber later to work like a projector, just so he could watch. Then he followed Hermione out to the garden. She led him to a bench on the far side of the lawn, before conjuring a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Harry grinned at her, then turned back to the house.

And he shot a series of chain fireballs from his wand, watching as the rickety excuse for a home took like a tinder box and erupted in angry, orange flames.

Hermione smiled up at Harry, and offered him a glass of bubbly.

"I call this a job well done, sweetheart," she said, as Harry folded down onto the seat next to her.

"I agree, Mrs Potter," said Harry. He clinked his glass against hers. "Cheers. I propose a toast. To us…let us not allow any of this sort of shit to happen to us ever again!"

Hermione laughed. "To us. May our enemies know fear before they die!"

"I like that," Harry chortled. "Let's go with that instead. Cesc never did come up with a new family motto for us, did she!"

They clinked glasses again. Harry slid his arm around Hermione's shoulders, she snaked hers around his waist, and together they watched the final end of this…the darkest period of their lives, as The Burrow burned majestically before their eyes.

* * *

_Three months later_

Hermione Potter and Enola Longbottom strolled through the misty London evening, a light snowfall settling on their winter coats. They were both laden with numerous shopping bags, all magically enchanted with weightless charms. Enola had a favourite Muggle shop, _Jojo Maman Bebe_, and in her idea there was simply no other place in the world her unborn daughter would be clothed by.

So Hermione had to buy at least two outfits for her _own_ unborn baby from the same shop, just to avoid a telling off.

They walked along, enjoying the illuminations and the giant Christmas trees flanking the pop-up stalls along the Thames. A troop of carol singers sent their festive notes high into the night air, whilst the smell of mulled wine filled their nostrils from a vendor nearby.

"Do you think we'd be okay with just one?" asked Enola, looking wistfully at the steaming glasses being supped by other people nearby.

"I'm not going to risk it," said Hermione, ruefully. She smirked. "I'm having Harry Potter's baby…the poor thing will have enough to deal with as it is, without throwing potential alcohol damage into the mix!"

Enola hooted out a laugh. Hermione looked at her, mildly jealous.

"Your bump is already showing," she huffed. "Where the hell is _mine_?"

"It'll come, don't worry," said Enola, chuckling again. "I might just be having a chubby little girl."

"How are you so sure it _is_ a girl?" asked Hermione.

"I just am," Enola replied. "I was with Ally, I am now."

"Maybe you're having twins," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "That might be why you're so big."

"Ooh, could you imagine? Nev would faint!"

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of which…we'd better get back to _The Cauldron, _before our husbands fall over in a _different_ sort of way!"

Enola sighed her agreement, and the two friends began a slow amble back across the Capital. The snow was falling heavier now. It clung to Hermione's hair, which seemed to be frizzier than ever since the onset of her pregnancy. She put it down to hormones, and tried not to get _too_ annoyed when her hairbrushes had zero impact on her wayward locks. The baby would make it all worthwhile.

Not that Harry minded at all. It was the opposite if anything. He had told her more than once that he preferred her hair all loose and wild. It reminded him of their younger years, and he could allow himself to pretend he was making up for the time they'd wasted not being together back then. There was something in that which Hermione found hopelessly sweet, so she wasn't too bothered about not scraping her mane back into a ponytail every morning, despite how much her stray hairs tickled her neck.

And they were mornings that she was getting more and more used to waking up to without worry. Just her, and Harry and their little baby growing in her tummy. She would often wake to find Harry talking to it, telling stories and making promises about the beautiful world he was going to provide for their son. Then he would inevitably go out and do it, following up leads on Death Eaters in hiding, reining in rogue giants and Dementors, or destroying any one of the dozens of fake Horcruxes out there made for Tom Riddle.

They had learned that both Ron and Ginny had _volunteered_ their souls to this diversionary programme, but as yet had been unable to locate _their_ Horcruxes, much to the frustration of both Mr and Mrs Potter.

But, for tonight, they had put all such endeavours aside. It was a few days before Christmas Eve and they were simply going to enjoy themselves. It was a bittersweet time, as they thought about all the friends who they should be catching up with on such an occasion, all lost to Riddle's blood war on Britain. Rebuilding the country would be slow work, but with Narcissa Malfoy installed as Interior Minister and responsible for the reconstruction, at least they had some competency in charge for a change.

And the Muggle world was slowly adapting to the new changes, too. Prince William was now King William, and his coronation had been covered by media outlets around the world. Newspapers, television, the internet all covered the story, broadcasting the message to the world…along with the secret little memory modification charm that was cleverly woven into it. Hermione had scoffed at that…as if the media didn't influence people's thinking enough as it was…

But she knew it was a necessary evil. A bit grey, but secrecy had to be restored. It was the easiest way for now. And the nation had accepted the story about Queen Elizabeth II passing peacefully in her sleep and Charles passing the crown to his son on grounds of ill health. William always was popular, and Harry was just learning that his Royal friend's star was about to soar even further.

"What are you grinning about?" asked Hermione, dumping down her shopping and swooping in to peck Harry's cheek.

"Just had a text from Wills," Harry explained. "Kate's expecting again. It'll be all over the papers tomorrow. You know we really must get the new Magic Tech department to come up with a version of Smart Phones for us…it's not fair that Muggles get all the best toys."

"Speaking of toys…did you get _me _one? You said you would."

Hermione looked fondly down at Celesca Lovegood, who had shimmied up into her lap with the most earnest expression plastered to her face. Hermione cuddled her God-daughter on her knee and grinned teasingly. "Well..let it never be said I'm not a witch of my word. There might just be a little something wrapped up in my green bag over there."

And Celesca was off like a shot.

"You spoil her, you know," Harry admonished playfully, watching Celesca merrily fish through Hermione's shopping.

"_I_ spoil her?" Hermione laughed. "I wasn't the one who bought her an antique dolls house shaped like Pemberley last week."

"I'm just educating her on the classics," Harry shrugged with a grin. "At least we'll know where all our money has gone when the vaults are empty."

"Oh, on that front…I'm going to look at sites for our new school after Christmas," said Hermione. "Our country has so many old castles…I'm sure I can find the perfect place. It will take years to purge the dark stain from Hogwarts…we might as well give it up as a bad job. Start afresh. I quite like the idea of being a school Founder. Fancy joining me?"

Harry laughed. "Will we have competing Houses? You know I couldn't _bare_ to have my team lose to yours at Quidditch! I wouldn't be able to look you in the face…and I can't have that, as your face is just _too_ pretty!"

"And there was me thinking you were getting used to _coming second_," said Hermione sultrily.

Harry smiled at her. "I don't mind that, it's true. As long as I'm with you to finish runner-up, at _anything_, I'll accept that. I still win either way."

And he truly meant it. Harry leant in for a lingering kiss with his wife, ignoring the swooning sounds teased over by Neville and Enola across the table. They could tease all they liked, for Harry and Hermione Potter really had done it…despite all the odds, they really had won.

And their beautiful future together was simply the greatest prize there was to be had.

_The End_.


End file.
